Your Kiss is Like Fire
by Temptress-Kitten17
Summary: Damon deals with the myriad of emotions that plague him: desire, frustration, jealousy, anger, bitterness, guilt, love, and his struggle to remain in control of his demon; especially when Elena continuously tests the limits of that control.
1. Turn Up The Heat

Disclaimer and Warning: I do not own Vampire Diaries, however consider this story mine. Any dialogues not canon from the show as well as any descriptive sentences are the end result of over twenty years of writing. I have poured my heart and soul into every beautiful paragraph, every perfect sentence, every hot and/or romantic scene, and every funny one-liner. To copy this work or any other and claim as one's own, in whole or in part is a criminal offence punishable by ostracism, harassment by my loyal readers, and possibly even dismissal by the MODs. **Repeat offenders will be reported IMMEDIATELY to Stop_Plagiarism on LiveJournal and your name will be placed on the watch list under all known aliases.** It's not worth it; don't be a thief !

**Part I: Turn Up The Heat…**

The first time he wants to kiss her, it's not even _about_ her. Truthfully, he only wants to do it because she looks like Katherine, and he knows it would seriously piss off Stefan; not that his baby brother would really be able to do anything to him if he were to succeed. There's another reason too, of course; she's got _fire, _and she's sexy as hell, and…what he just said. Besides, he's never been one to walk away from a challenge, and she tempts him in a way that is so fleeting these days; being alive for over 150 years tends to make one very bored, even when one spends all his time drinking, fucking, and killing—in that order. So when he made his presence known to her at the boarding house the other day, it had been partly to satisfy a curiosity (just what was this girl's connection to Katherine, and why was Stefan so enamored with her?) and partly to try and steal her away from his brooding baby brother the same way _he_ stole Katherine away. Revenge would be sweet, and if he got a new vampire girlfriend out of the whole thing so much the better. She'd certainly be more fun than that blonde girl he's "dating" at the moment; though Caroline _is_ proving to be quite useful in some ways at least. She's a decent fuck, and she's close to Elena, which is _perfect_ because he is easily able to secure an invitation into her home by simply accompanying Caroline as her date. Stefan did _not_ like that one little bit, but then that just made the victory all the sweeter for him. It's not like his baby brother could have thrown him out, or even explained to the clueless humans present that he most definitely should _not _be invited in. That whole "I'm just a normal, though un-characteristically broody, teenage boy" thing that Stefan has going on certainly works to _his_ advantage; because Stefan wouldn't dare risk revealing their "secret".

He spends the evening in the company of a bunch of _boring_ teenagers, with Caroline chattering away incessantly about school and cheerleading. The subject is only mildly interesting to him because earlier today he'd dropped the blonde off at practice (after spending several hours enjoying his new toy and carefully compelling her to believe that she enjoys being his secret happy meal) and spotted Elena in her little shorty shorts and tank top. Damn, her legs were just as long as Katherine's; he _loves_ that in this century the women are allowed to reveal so much more skin. Briefly he entertains a little fantasy of having Katherine dressed in her corset and stockings, and Elena wearing a sexy little white bra and panties set in see-through lace; past and present together in one hell of a threesome. Then he's back in his car, and he can feel Elena's eyes on him. He's amused at the glare she's giving him, because really she has no reason to; it's not like she knows what he is (yet) and she couldn't possibly know what he's thinking about. As he watches Caroline bouncing up to her, with a cheeky expression on her face, he overhears her saying "I got the other brother, hope you don't mind," in a tone that is both triumphant and just a tiny bit _bitchy_. He can't resist glancing up at Elena with a teasingly seductive smirk on his lips; she certainly _looks_ like she might mind, and he files that information away to possibly torture his brother with later. He gives her his sexiest smile, winking at her before pulling out of the parking lot. Oh yeah, she totally wants him; he would bet his ring on it. The way she had been blatantly checking him out at the boarding house, and the rapid beating of her heart had him convinced that he had most certainly not lost his ability to charm a woman with a single look; she was falling for it hook, line, and sinker! In fact, he wouldn't have been surprised if he could have had her up against the wall moaning his name, had Captain Bring-Down of the Fun Police not walked in and so rudely interrupted them. Still, he had managed to get in one last dig at Stefan by taking Elena's hand in his and giving it a chaste kiss; he swore her heart skipped a few beats when he did it. He's absolutely certain that he has her right where he wants her; secretly lusting after him even though she's technically dating his brother.

Blondie turns out to be quite the catty little thing, because she suddenly makes a comment about Elena having been a lot more fun before her parents died. Ouch. Oh, wait, why does he even care? Emotionally vulnerable women are such easy prey for him, and this little revelation once again puts him at an advantage. He gives her his most sympathetic eyes he can manage, and tells her he's sorry for her loss. At the same time though, he just can't resist stirring the pot a little; making Stefan uncomfortable is one of his favorite pastimes.

"I'm sorry, Elena, I know what it's like to lose both your parents," he tells her. "In fact, Stefan and I have watched practically every single person we've ever cared about die."

His words have the desired effect; sympathy from Elena, and irritation from Stefan.

"We don't need to get into that, Damon," Stefan warns. Like he could even do anything if he oh, say…decided to just murder the other two girls and turn Elena right then and there on a whim. Please, his brother's threats are as empty as his blonde companion's head as far as he's concerned. Stefan couldn't do anything to him if he _wanted _to, and he knows it.

"You know what, you're right; I'm sorry, Stefan," he replies in a tone that indicates he isn't the least bit sorry. "The last thing I wanted was to bring _her_ up." And just because he _can_ he makes an expression like he's wincing at the awkwardness of the situation; of course that gets Elena's attention, just as he intended. To say that this little game he's playing is incredibly amusing to him would be an understatement; it might be worth it to keep up the pretenses a little longer, just to watch his little brother squirm.

Later that same night he follows Elena into the kitchen as she's loading the dishwasher. It's as close to being alone with her as he's going to get (at least for now), and the more time he's able to spend with her, the more he'll be able to charm her. He might not even need to compel her after all; she's incredibly _receptive_ to his compliments, even tucking a few strands of hair behind her ears as she looks at him with a smile that lights her eyes. Just as he predicted she would, she suddenly asks him about Katherine. He considers just how much to tell her, since the whole point of mentioning her in the first place was to plant a few seeds of doubt in her relationship with Stefan. He was quite amused yesterday when he discovered that Stefan was keeping all his secrets to himself; it made telling Elena about Stefan's "dead ex-girlfriend" even more entertaining for him. She'd really had no idea at all; he'd be more than happy to fill in those details for her—within reason, obviously, since he doesn't want to give the game away just yet.

So he tells her that Katherine was beautiful (a lot like Elena, though she has no clue how true those words are), sexy, and seductive. He tells her she was also spoiled and a bit selfish (but then who _isn't_ like that?). Elena is surprisingly perceptive, because she asks him who dated her first. He really hadn't expected her to figure that one out, but it pleases him nonetheless because it means Stefan won't be able to keep her in the dark much longer. She's far too inquisitive, and just a bit stubborn; he likes that about her probably even more than her physical resemblance to his beloved, whom he is determined to set free soon enough. He's certain she'll be just as amused by this girl that looks like her as he is; perhaps even enough to allow him to turn her. Sure, it would get confusing having two vampire girlfriends who happen to be exact copies of each other, but therein lay the fun.

In the meantime, he's perfectly content to play with this little human and "befriend" her. He knows that Stefan has probably warned her away from him, telling all sorts of sob stories about his "mean older brother", and he's out to prove his "innocence" so to speak. He suggests she quit cheerleading (because she's _miserable_) and with that suggestion comes her grateful smile. It's almost too easy to get her to like him, and it certainly doesn't hurt that he's incredibly sexy and has that bad-boy appeal that makes every woman with a pulse fall at his feet. He's inwardly congratulating himself on his latest victory when her soft voice suddenly breaks into his thoughts.

"I'm sorry," she says suddenly, completely out of nowhere. It takes him a moment to realize those words are directed at him. He furrows his brow in confusion, because honestly he's never really had anyone apologize to him for anything; not his father for being such an overbearing tyrant, and not Stefan for stealing away the one girl he'd shown true affection for. So it's really beyond his comprehension why a mere slip of a girl, who barely knows him, would even _care_ enough to apologize for anything; and she hasn't even done anything to be sorry for. Well, other than choosing his baby brother over his fine ass, but that's her loss.

The confusion must show quite plainly in his expression, because she looks at him with such sympathy, as if she understands his pain. "About Katherine," she adds softly. Those words only confuse him more, because why would _she_ be apologizing for Katherine? It's not like she was even around in 1864 when her vampire twin was carried off to the church and trapped in the tomb for almost a century and a half. It really makes no sense to him at all; why would she even care?

"You lost her too," Elena adds, and she actually looks _sad_ for him. It's odd, and maybe a little disconcerting, but for the first time in over a hundred and fifty years, Damon feels like someone actually _understands_ him; which is a ridiculous notion when you take into account the fact that she doesn't even _know_ him. She's barely spent more than five minutes alone with him, and yet in those five minutes, she's somehow managed to make him feel…vulnerable. Not only that, but suddenly he really wants to touch her, kiss her, and make her his; and it has absolutely nothing to do with pissing off Stefan.

Of course Elena's little human friends happen to have the _worst_ timing, and that little Bonnie chick pops her head in at the exact same moment that he debates on whether or not to make his move tonight. He's tempted to tell her to go away (well, more like compel her, but it's all the same thing as far as he's concerned) and pick up where they left off before they were so rudely interrupted, but Elena is so clearly flustered right now that he doubts he'll be able to get any closer to her tonight without persuasion. Besides, Stefan is in the other room grilling _his_ date, and the very _last_ thing he needs is for everyone to find out he's been snacking on Blondie.

He makes short work of getting her to join the other girls in the kitchen (though he _did_ have to compel the snotty little bitch) and then immediately gets into another moral debate with his holier than thou baby brother. Stefan proceeds to lecture him on how it's wrong to treat human girls as puppets that exist for his own amusement…blah, blah, blah, more whiny emo vampire sissy boy crap. Damon wonders if it's actually possible to be bored _to death_ in those few minutes of his un-life that he'll never get back. But it doesn't matter what Stefan thinks, as Damon points out; human women are whatever he wants them to be (and he's had them be a LOT of things for him: naughty nurse, slutty cheerleader, sexy librarian, horny MILF…oh the possibilities are endless when one has the power of compulsion at one's disposal). They are, indisputably, _his_ for the taking; and Elena is no exception to that rule. Oh yes, he _will_ have her, he promises Stefan; because he's been invited into her home, and that by definition means he has an all-access pass—and it's one he's going to take full advantage of.

That same night, he makes good on his threat. It's probably just a little after two in the morning and the lovely Elena is fast asleep in her bed, wearing a very sexy little camisole top and no bra. He can see the little round pebbles of her nipples as she starts moaning softly, and he just can't resist getting inside that pretty little head of hers. Predictably, she's dreaming about Stefan, and they're getting hot and heavy on her bed. He's surprised to discover that Elena Gilbert is a passionate woman, and he loves how quickly she takes control of the situation. He also knows that Stefan wouldn't know the first thing to do with such fire, and it's probably just as well since Damon plans to steal his girl soon anyway. He really can't help himself as soon as the shirt comes off, and her breasts bounce slightly, straining against the white cotton of her bra. He _really_ wants to know if those breasts feel (and taste) as good as they look, and before he knows it _he's _the one under her. Her legs are straddling his hips, and her soft core is grinding against the aching hardness of his confined cock. He's pulling his shirt up over his head, and she's riding him in such a way that's both agonizing torture and incredible pleasure; he can even feel the wetness on the crotch of her pants, as if she's so turned on that her juices are actually soaking through the fabric. Just as he pulls the shirt over his head, he grins up at her with his devilishly handsome smirk…and she screams in shock and surprise.

Shit.

He manages to make it out of her room before she jolts awake; watching from the tree just outside her window as she tries to calm her rapidly beating heart. The thing that amuses him though is that she isn't freaking out as much as he'd think, and when she falls asleep a few minutes later, he's starring in her dreams again—only this time he has nothing to do with it.

The next night, she's decidedly _jumpy_ around him. When he sneaks up on her in the parking lot, her heart immediately starts pounding in that way that indicates she's not as afraid of him as she wants him to believe. He toys with her a bit, teasing that he's hiding from Caroline and winking flirtatiously; it's a known fact that women are unable to resist that look, but clearly Elena is not like any other woman he's known. She tells him off for _using_ her friend, and refuses to take the bait when he's all "apologetic" with his dazzling blue eyes and "sweet" smile.

"I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable," he tells her, pulling out all the stops to charm his way back into her good graces. "That's not my intention."

She narrows her eyes, and there's suspicion and wariness in those dark orbs; as if she can see right through him.

"Yes, it is," she says, calling him out on his lies in that strangely perceptive way that makes him uncomfortable, but at the same time intrigues him. "Otherwise you wouldn't put an alternate meaning behind everything you say."

Well, so much for charming her the old-fashioned way; too bad for her, Damon Salvatore is not one to give up so easily.

"You're right," he admits, "I do have other intentions, but so do you."

She's indignant that he would even suggest such a thing, even though he _knows_ the truth. Even without getting inside her head, it's so obvious that she's been flirting with him—even if she's not aware of it. He notices every look, every smile, and every time she catches her breath during their "accidental" touches. He knows she wants him; she just needs a little _push_ to get what she wants.

"You want me," he purrs, spelling it all out for her.

Of course she resists him; it's only natural that one so full of fire would also try to resist his charms. It just makes him want her even more, and it's been too long since he was this excited by the thrill of the chase.

"You find yourself drawn to me," he whispers. Her eyes instantly fall to his lips, and he hasn't even started to compel her yet. "You think about me even when you don't want to think about me. I bet you even _dream_ about me." Oh yeah, that last one got her attention in a BIG way. If her tell-tale heart doesn't already give her away, the sweet little scent perfuming the air certainly confirms it. He can't help but wonder if he'll be the first to taste it right from the source, or if that all-American pretty boy jock got there first. Not that it really makes much of a difference, since the only name she'll be screaming from this point on will be _his_. God, he can't wait to have those sexy legs wrapped around his waist; he might even just take her here on the hood of her car. Wouldn't _that_ just piss Stefan off? But first, he needs to make her _agreeable_, and as his jeans are suddenly a little tighter than he'd like, he's really not in the mood to play games anymore. He focuses on her eyes, concentrating on clearing his mind of every thought but one: "Right now, you want to kiss me," he adds before leaning in toward her soft lips. He can hear her breath catch in her throat and her pulse is skyrocketing, but then something happens he isn't expecting; she slaps him. He's stunned, not because he can't compel her (he already suspects who is responsible for _that_) but because she actually _hit_ him.

"What the hell?" she spits at him with fire burning in her eyes. He's still too shocked to say anything, rubbing his jaw in the spot where her hand made contact. Truth be told, it actually stings a bit; if he was human (or on Stefan's diet), that would have actually _hurt_.

She proceeds to tear into him, making sure to point out that she is _not_ Katherine, and that she won't be part of whatever sick game he's playing with Stefan. Then she storms off, leaving him there to try and make sense of what the hell just happened. After all, he couldn't possibly be wrong about her wanting him; he's Damon fucking Salvatore! Any straight woman with a pulse (and plenty without one) would kill for the chance to share his bed; everything about him screams "hot sex". She shouldn't reject him, and he really doesn't like that she _has_. It pisses him off, actually, and he suddenly has this overwhelming need to do something drastic to prove that it _doesn't_ faze him; because Damon Salvatore does NOT feel bad about anything.

To prove it, he rips out the football coach's throat; call it a cathartic release.

After he leaves Stefan to clean up the mess, he wanders through the woods, close to the abandoned church where it all started. He knows it won't be long now; the comet has passed and soon he will be able to retrieve Emily's crystal from its hiding place. He still hasn't decided just what he's going to do once Katherine's free; truthfully he never really bothered to think about that because he's not sure he wants to know the answer to the question. To quote one of his (secret) favorite books, he'll think about it tomorrow.

He takes another sip from the flask of bourbon he likes to carry with him on nights such as this, and toasts to the woman who made him what he is today, vowing that they'll be together again soon enough.

It's nearly midnight when he finally decides to leave and make his way back to the boarding house (to torture Stefan some more, of course); but somehow he finds himself travelling in a different direction. He doesn't fully realize where he's headed until he's standing right in front of her house, looking up at the darkened curtains fluttering in the cool breeze. He knows he shouldn't, but that's exactly _why_ he does it; in an instant he's climbing through that window, and the soft sound of her breathing is all he can hear. She's so beautiful, possibly even more so than Katherine, regardless of the fact that they are identical. It's just something he can't quite figure out; why he's so drawn to her, when the one he truly desires is locked in a tomb under the burned church. He knows it shouldn't matter to him; he tells himself it _doesn't_, and that he's only here because she looks like Katherine, and he _misses_ Katherine, and that once he _has_ Katherine he will not feel this _pull_ towards her human twin anymore. He tells himself all of this, even as he's softly tracing the side of her face and wondering what it would be like to have her willingly in his arms; and for one fleeting moment, he wonders if it's still just a game.

* * *

><p>The second time, he wants to kiss her, it's completely, one-hundred percent about <em>her<em>, and the feelings he's developed for her over the past few months. He doesn't know exactly when things got so complicated, but they _are_. He is hopelessly in love with a woman who is in love with his brother (again), and everyone and their dog seems to read it on his face these days. Everyone, that is, except _her_; or maybe she's just really good at pretending that spark isn't there between them. She certainly seems a lot more calm and unaffected by the whole revelation than he's feeling, and truth be told it's a little frustrating—in more ways than one.

He supposes it could have started during their trip to Georgia, when they were slinging back drinks and saving each other's lives; because he's well aware of the fact that she could have just let him burn to death. She didn't _have_ to save him. Technically speaking, it would have made things a lot easier for her if she _hadn't_; and yet she _had. _She had pleaded with Lexi's boyfriend (what's his name) to spare his life, and when he'd agreed, she had looked so relieved that Damon almost started to wonder _why_ it was so important to her that he stay alive. Why would it matter, when she had professed to hate his guts just a few days ago? Why would it matter when she'd been so furious with him for "kidnapping" her?

That night, they shared a cheap motel room, with him sleeping on a chair (after washing all that gasoline off him in the dingy shower, of course) and her snuggled up under the sheets (though he'd made _sure,_ through compulsion, that those sheets had been freshly washed. It was the least he could do for her). A few times he heard her mumble his name, but he resisted the temptation to peek in on her dreams. The next morning they drove back home, and it wasn't said, but he could already sense that there was a new friendship between them.

That friendship continued to flourish, much to Stefan's annoyance (which, Damon must admit, made it all the sweeter). He supposes that's what made it all the more devastating whenever one of them would disappoint the other; her by lying to him about getting Katherine out of the tomb (not that the bitch was even in there), and him by unknowingly having turned her birth mother into a vampire (like he could have even _known_ that Isobel was her mother. It wasn't like he was clairvoyant or anything). He'd felt like such an asshole for tormenting Ric about his "dead" wife, if only because he had unintentionally upset Elena at the time; although _now_ he feels worse for turning the bitch in the first place. She really had no right to open her mouth about things she can't possibly know anything about. So he threatened her not to go after Elena ever again; big deal. That doesn't necessarily mean he's "in love" with the girl in question—and even if it's true, the bitch didn't have to broadcast that information.

It's _because_ of that little announcement that Elena later calls him out during one of his many flirtations with her at the Grill, and tells him to stop doing that "eye thing" of his. He knows exactly what she's referring to and he secretly loves that she is so aware of it (and that she's got a name for it); he can't resist giving her a demonstration, just because it flusters her so much and her cheeks color in such a sexy way.

"Don't make me regret being your friend," she warns him before walking away.

He frowns slightly, though she's too busy talking to her brat of a younger brother to notice at the moment. His mind instantly goes back to the dance a few weeks ago, when St. Stefan was on a bender and _he_ got to have some real "alone time" with Elena. He remembers the way she looked deeply into his eyes, staring with silent awe as if she'd never seen him before; it hadn't gone unnoticed how her heart had been pounding in her chest, or the way she'd unconsciously pressed her chest a little closer to him than was _proper_ as he'd taken her in his arms. God, she'd been looking at him like he was the only man there and for those few fleeting moments he'd almost believed she was _his_; that sharing this dance with her had been fate finally stepping in and giving him his most secret desire.

Of course fate is a very cruel and sadistic mistress, and just as easily as she gives him that chance to feel truly happy, she takes it away just as quickly. Don't get him wrong, because he does (begrudgingly) love his brother; but there are some days when he wishes, even for a fleeting moment (and usually as he's drowning his misery in a bottle of the best bourbon he can get his hands on) that Stefan hadn't listened to Elena's little speech and just ended his life. Sure, he _would_ probably regret saying that out loud (especially if Stefan decides one suicide attempt isn't enough), but he just can't help the way he feels sometimes; and having Stefan out of the way would make it so much easier for him to sweep Elena off her feet. There really is only so much one can do with a few flirtatious smiles and single red roses plucked from decorative vases; his _real_ talent for romancing the ladies…well, it's not easily accomplished when said lady is too preoccupied with his _brother_ to even allow herself to get a taste of what she's missing. So he contents himself with teasing her, and flirting with her, and doing the aforementioned "eye thing", and in the rare times that she needs _his_ help and maybe even a shoulder to cry on (which was the only good thing that came out of Stefan falling off the wagon), then he'll make damn sure he's there _every_. _Single. Time._ That it pisses Stefan off, well, that's just a bonus for him; but it's no longer the goal.

To endear himself further to Elena, he's been recently finding himself doing and saying things that he didn't think he was capable of at this point in his un-life; he's actually being _nice_ to people, and offering his services up as a reluctant knight for Team Good on occasion (because for some reason Elena thinks he's a good person—even though he's not a person at all). She's always spouting crap about how he can be the better man, and for the most part he tries to brush it off as naivety on her part, but there is always that tiny nagging voice in his head telling him that he _could_ be that person for her; that if he _was_ then maybe he'd be worthy of her. Maybe he could even get the girl in the end. Wouldn't _that_ be a twist ending?

He knows that's never gonna happen though; Stefan is the proverbial knight in shining armor, complete with his hero's cape and the silver cross of saint-hood, and he will _always_ be the better choice (well, as long as he's not off the wagon, anyway). Besides, as Stefan so kindly likes to remind him whenever he _tries_ to defend Elena (this time by telling off her snot-nosed little brother for being such a jerk to his sister), he's _not_ the hero in this story; at least, he's not the hero in _her_ story. Sometimes Stefan can be a sanctimonious prick; especially when he's jealous and thinks that Damon's after his girl—which he is, but as it's pretty one-sided right now he doubts that anything will come of it. She's not like Katherine, as she loves to remind him.

If he wasn't so fucking blinded by his desire to have Elena, even just for one single moment in time, then he probably would be able to tell the difference later that night. But the truth is, he has so many other things on his mind that a slightly colder touch and no pounding heartbeat echoing in his ears are pretty much over-looked in that moment.

He's just about to leave the Gilbert home, after delivering the bad news in person to Elena's devastated brother. Why he did it, he still isn't sure himself, but after what had happened with Jeremy's _first_ girlfriend, and the fact that Damon was the reason she's dead, well, he kind of felt like he owed it to the kid to tell him that Anna wouldn't be coming back. Maybe it's because he sees a bit of himself in Jeremy; that lost, haunted look of someone who keeps losing those that he loves. True, Damon didn't actually _lose_ Katherine the way he thought he had (the bitch just didn't care enough to let _him_ know that), but he still knows what it feels like to have the one thing you care about cruelly ripped away from you. So yeah, he kind of feels bad for Jeremy and he even offered to take that pain away; but as Jeremy tells him, he _didn't_ take it away the first time—compulsion isn't the fix-everything strategy he thought it was, apparently. Learn something new every day.

It's as he's contemplating this new information (and wondering just what the hell Blondie and the other "victims" of his past might still remember) that he spots her coming up the walkway laden with bags (probably containing her period costume and beauty supplies). She's somewhat distant from him tonight, without any of the usual expressions or reactions to his presence (namely, she's not all wide-eyes and shock mixed with nervousness that he's just come out of her house), but he chalks that all up to the fact that he almost _died_ tonight; and _she_ saved his life (again). Funny how she keeps doing that, even when she insists there's nothing but friendship between them.

When she asks him what he's doing here, her voice is somehow _off;_ it's direct, to the point, but lacks the usual accusatory or fearful tone to it. He shrugs it off, thinking he's just reading too much into things.

"A failed and feeble attempt at doing the right thing," is his only response to her query. She asks him (indifferently) what it was, and he just shrugs again, saying it's not important. There's silence between them, almost uncomfortable, and he's unsure whether it's because _she's_ uncomfortable, or if he's only now starting to realize just how much their relationship has changed since Isobel's little _revelation_. He's not flirting or cracking smart-ass remarks, and she's not on one of her little tirades about boundaries and showing up unannounced when he doesn't have the right to. They're simply staring at each other, both seemingly afraid to address the real reason he hasn't walked away from her; the reason _she _won't let him leave her. He takes her bags from her, setting them down on the nearby lounge chair; her simple "thank you" is the only reaction he gets from her. It's like she's no longer as nervous or jumpy around him; as if him touching her hand briefly (which would have been considered too _forward_ in his own time; especially toward a woman he had no claim to) was something she's just come to expect from him.

"You know," he muses, "I came to this town wanting to destroy it, and tonight I found myself wanting to protect it. How does that happen?"

She stares at him, almost as if she's at a loss of what to say, but he really doesn't need her to say anything. "I'm not a hero, Elena," he says, frowning, "I don't do 'good'; it's not in me."

She doesn't seem surprised or affected by his words, and her voice still has that hollow, empty quality to it that he can't quite recognize.

"Maybe it is," is her only response. It's strange, because normally she'd be giving him a long speech about how he can be a good person and how he's proven it many times to her. Instead she listens quietly as he tells her that goodness is reserved for Stefan, and her, and (begrudgingly) Bonnie.

"Even though she has every reason to hate me, yet still helped Stefan save me," he says softly, still unable to believe it.

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Elena asks him then, and he looks straight into her beautiful dark eyes as if trying to convey everything that he's saying (but not saying) in his gaze.

"Because, she did it for _you_," he replies, eyes locking with hers as he slowly, cautiously steps closer to her; they're almost touching now, and if he were to take one more step they _would_ be. "Which means," he adds softly, "that somewhere along the way, you decided I was worth saving; and I wanted to thank you for that."

She's smiling sweetly; a little half smile that makes her eyes sparkle with some unknown emotion as she says "You're welcome."

He doesn't know what exactly possesses him to do it (he's never been this bold before; not since they became friends and he wasn't trying to seduce her for fun) but as he leans in she's almost perfectly still. She's not pulling away; doesn't even flinch or make any indication that he's going too far when he places the softest of kisses to her cheek. He notices that it's slightly chilled, and knows that he probably shouldn't be keeping her outside right now when the air is getting colder. But as he draws back again he recognizes something in her eyes that makes him pause, and he can't ignore the feelings she evokes in him with that look; it's the look of someone who doesn't want him to leave her just yet.

He knows it's wrong; he knows there will be consequences later; but he just can't seem to care at the moment, because he wants this too much.

Slowly, he brings his mouth closer to hers, watching her eyes for any sign that she's about to recoil and slap him; there isn't one. The first touch sends his heart right into his throat; her lips barely move against his, but she's still _kissing him back_. As he pulls away, not wanting to risk the temptation, _she's_ suddenly leaning forward to capture his lips again. Instinctively his hands slide up to cup the side of her face and pull her closer, and he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, flicking over it with his tongue. He's so lost in their kiss that he fails to hear the footsteps until the door opens, and Elena turns around to stare at her aunt Jenna. She doesn't even look apologetic, and as Jenna coldly glares at him like he's the enemy and tells her niece to come inside, Elena walks past her into the house without another word.

Through the closed door he overhears Jenna trying to get answers, and Elena coldly responding that she doesn't want to talk about it. He briefly wonders if her not wanting to talk about it also includes _him_, and unconsciously he touches his fingers to his lips, still warm from her kiss, before turning away from the house and the girl inside and forcing himself to go home where he can be alone with his thoughts and figure out what the hell he's going to do now; because that kiss just changed _everything._

* * *

><p>The third time he tries to kiss her, it's mostly about her, and maybe only one-tenth about Katherine. Just when he was getting <em>over<em> the woman who ruined his life 145 years ago, she has to waltz back into his life and utterly destroy it. It's not enough for her to wreak havoc, pretending to be Elena, but she actually had to go and ruin a moment for him that up until twenty four hours ago had been one of the best things to ever happen to him—or so he'd thought, anyway. To say that today has been a complete mind-fuck for him would be the understatement of the century.

When he'd received the call from Liz, he hadn't even thought about it; he'd simply gone to the hospital to be there for her. It's still difficult to believe that this is his life; he actually has _friends_ in this town; people who count on him in a crisis. It's only when he gets there that he learns of the accident, and immediately his thoughts turn to Elena (does she even know yet?) and how devastated she'll be if she loses her best friend. The other stuff Liz tells him, well he already knows about it; he was _there_ when they brought Mayor Lockwood down to the basement and set the place on fire. But he can't tell Liz that, so he just tries to act shocked and horrified at the news, and promises to do everything he can to help her (_everything_ that's within his power). He's already planning on how and when to sneak into Caroline's room and heal her. True, there's really no love lost between them, but after the shitty way he treated her all those months ago, and the fact that she's important to Elena (and Liz doesn't deserve to lose her daughter), he feels it's the least he can do for her.

Liz catches one of the doctors tending to Caroline's injuries, and Damon watches from a distance as the poor woman is told that they might not be able to save her. Just as he's contemplating his plan of action (namely to do what the hospital can't), he spots a frantic-looking Elena running up to Bonnie and pleading with her to do _something_. He can tell by the witch's grave tone that she really has no idea what she's doing, and decides that now is a good time to reveal himself to them. When she looks up into his eyes, there's nothing there but concern, and a little bit of apprehension (especially after he tells her he's willing to give Caroline his blood to save her).

"It's too risky," she protests. "I can't agree to that." He's about to tell her that whether she likes it or not, it's their only option and he's doing it with or without her approval, but none of that is even an issue when Bonnie practically _orders_ him to "do it". She's a bossy little thing, which annoys him because since when does he take orders?

"If I do this, you and me call a truce?" he asks, not wanting to give up a chance to at least _bargain_ with Sabrina the Teenage Bitch; and so he doesn't become her guinea pig the next time she decides to test a new vampire torturing spell. Getting thrown across the room was enough for him to realize he really doesn't want to stay on her bad side.

"No, but you'll do it anyway," she says, looking pretty damn smug for someone who isn't as all-powerful as she wants them all to believe. She adds the unnecessary, "For Elena," before turning on her sanctimonious little heel and walking away; leaving him alone with the girl he really _would_ do _anything_ for.

The girl in question is staring off after her friend, looking increasingly more agitated every second. He knows this is probably not the best time for this conversation, in fact, this is probably the _worst_ time to be bringing this up; but the longer they put it off, the more likely he's going to go out of his mind wondering what the hell it all means. He kissed her. She kissed him back. They would probably have gone into a full-on make out session against the side of her house (with her legs wrapped high around his waist and her back pressed against the wall, if he had any say in the matter) if Jenna hadn't spoiled the mood.

He decides that he's going to have to bring it up, because she's acting like it didn't happen, and the distance between them is just too uncomfortable for him to ignore a second longer.

"Alright," he sighs, "I know this is probably the last thing you wanna do right now, but we should talk about what happened tonight."

"Yeah," she says. "One of the tomb vampires got into the house tonight and almost killed John."

He looks at her, confused because that was seriously the last thing he expected her to say. Also, _when_ exactly did that happen? After he left?

"You were there?" she asks, sounding about as confused as he's feeling right now. He's heard of "pretending it never happened" before, but she's taking things a little too far. He rolls his eyes, muttering just loud enough for her to hear him say "you _know_ I was."

"When were you at the house?" she asks, still playing dumb, as if she has _no_ idea what he's talking about; as if she never kissed him. It's all very _high school_ of her to be acting this way, and he's not in the mood to play games with her.

"Really?" he says seriously, looking pointedly into her eyes. "Earlier, on the porch? We were talking, cathartic feelings exposed…" he's getting frustrated, because she's just staring at him and _nothing_ seems to be registering at all. "Come on, we _kissed_, Elena!" he all-but growls at her.

She doesn't even acknowledge it; she just closes her eyes and is about to completely blow him off because she "doesn't have time for this."

Too fucking bad.

He grabs her arm, spinning her back around to face him as she's about to walk away, and there's desperation in his voice now. He hates that she's reduced him to this, but the truth is she's driving him crazy and he needs to know if any of it was real.

"If you want to forget it happened, fine," he tells her in a quiet but deadly serious tone. "But I _can't_."

Jenna chooses that exact moment to interrupt them (again!) and he has no choice but to let go of Elena's arm and broodingly wait for her to finish speaking with her aunt. He can feel the little death glare that Jenna gives him as he turns his back to them both. Surprisingly, Elena is confused as to why Jenna wasn't home when the accident took place. What follows is a blatant denial when Jenna informs Elena that she spoke to her earlier at the house, and Jenna's insistence that she _was_ there. But as Elena continues to deny the truth, something starts to click in Damon's mind; something he realizes _now_ should have been fucking obvious. The coldness of her voice and skin, the way the light didn't meet her eyes, even the way her lips felt against his, they all seemed so _un_-Elena-like and yet he hadn't even considered _why_ that was. _Why_ she'd been so clipped in her responses, as if weighing every word carefully; so she wouldn't give herself away…

"You gotta be kidding me!" he says out loud, forgetting Jenna's presence entirely. He gives Elena a furtive glance, heading down the hallway with determined steps. He can hear her running to catch up, calling his name frantically and asking him just what the hell is going on. He doesn't answer her, or even turn around. Personally he'd rather she just stay at the hospital where it's safe (Bonnie can protect her, if necessary) but Elena is not one to do what's best for her.

"Damon!" she calls after him again as they enter the parking lot and he heads straight for his car. "Wait!"

He sighs, knowing that ignoring her isn't going to get him anywhere, so he just flings the passenger door open for her, telling her to get in.

"I'll explain later," he snaps impatiently when she opens her mouth to question him. "Right now, we just need to find Stefan."

Elena tells him that he's babysitting Jeremy, to make sure that the kid doesn't try to kill himself again. Damon feels a little responsible for that, since he's the one who told Jeremy that his girlfriend's dead, and then in the same breath told him that vampires don't have to feel those emotions if they don't want to—fucking stupid of him! Of course, he doesn't tell this to Elena; she's already going to be upset with him as it is when he informs her that Katherine is back, and by the way, she's the one that he kissed on the porch thinking it was _her_.

Fucking BITCH! He curses in his head, unconsciously pressing his foot a little harder on the gas pedal as his temper rises. He has so many questions, and he'd like nothing more than to torture the bitch with Vervain until he gets the answers to them; at the same time, however, he's acutely aware of the danger that Elena could be facing. Katherine pretended to be her (and was pretty fucking convincing too) in order to get into the house and attack John (which isn't exactly a tragedy, since the guy's a dick). Katherine has been _invited in_. This day couldn't possibly get any worse for him.

Of course he's wrong; it can get _much _worse.

When they arrive at the house, it's clear that Katherine has already had some fun of her own. Stefan's completely stunned to discover that their crazy ex is back in town, and Elena's pretty shaken up about the fact that an evil vampire who looks _exactly like her_ is now pretending to _be_ her and using that disguise to possibly paint the town red (literally).

Of course Stefan has to make the situation worse by asking him what Katherine meant when she said she fooled _one_ of them. He expects the annoyance from Stefan, possibly even righteous fury at his words, but what he _doesn't_ expect is Elena's blatant denial of having _ever_ thought about kissing him. She makes it sound like _he's_ the bad guy for even thinking it could be possible, and honestly it kind of pisses him off. He _knows_ that it's not entirely one-sided; even if it wasn't _her_ lips he was kissing tonight, there's no denying that _she_ was the reason he's still standing here and not burnt to a crisp like the rest of the unfortunate victims in the fire. There's no denying that it was _her_ he danced with at the Miss Mystic Falls pageant, and it was _her_ eyes he had been staring into. It was _her_ heart that beat so fast, and _her_ breath that caught in her throat. It was _her_ voice pleading for him to come with her that night he'd discovered Katherine wasn't in the tomb. It was _her_ arms that had wrapped around him in an attempt to comfort him as his heart shattered into a million tiny pieces. And right now, _she's_ the one standing between him and his brother, breaking up a potential fight (that Damon would totally have won) and lying through her teeth.

"I wouldn't do that," she says to him, as if saying it makes it somehow _true_. He really wishes Stefan wasn't here so he could prove to her just how wrong she is about that.

She sighs in exasperation at the look he's giving her, and the death glare that Stefan's giving _him_, and reminds them all that they don't have time for this. He supposes she's right, in a sense, because with Katherine on the loose they really need to come up with a game plan. It's just that Elena keeps looking at _Stefan_, and ignoring _him_, and it's not so much "what are the _three_ of us going to do?" as it is "what are Stefan and I going to do?" and he really, _really_ doesn't want to watch them getting all couple-y in front of him right now. So he comes up with his own strategy for dealing with everything; that is to say he's going to do what he _always_ does when he doesn't want to deal. He's just going to ignore it, and get drunk. That last part being _implied_, but not said out loud.

He decides that last night's bender isn't enough, and continues on to the next day, even though he's in danger of draining his whole liquor supply. Fortunately, Carol Lockwood always saves the good stuff for special occasions, and her husband's wake is no exception. So after breaking up a potential catfight between her and Liz, and having a really unpleasant encounter with the witch, Damon decides the most productive way to pass the time is to indulge in a few more glasses of scotch. Just as he's finishing off lucky number 7 (the one drawback to being a vampire is that it takes a lot of drinks before he's effectively _numb_) he spots Elena with her family. He hopes that she'll just keep walking, and leave him to wallow in his misery, but he knows just by looking at her sad, sympathetic expression that she's not going to let that happen. He overhears her tell Jeremy and Jenna that she'll "be right there", and quickly takes another sip from the glass to (hopefully) dull whatever effects she may have on him.

Predictably the first thing she asks him is how he's doing, because despite the fact that she's completely rejected him, she wants to let him know she still _cares_ about him.

"I kissed you, I thought you kissed me back…doppelganger hijinx ensued…how do you think I'm doing?" he asks pointedly.

"I think that you're hurt," she replies softly; again with the sympathetic, pitying eyes.

"Mmmm, no, I don't get _hurt_, Elena," he says, rather sarcastically. Because why _would_ he get hurt? He doesn't have feelings, he has no understanding of what love is, according to Stefan anyway. Didn't he say as much last night? Isn't that why everyone _loves_ Stefan and hates him; because he's incapable of human emotions, and Stefan _isn't_?

"No, you don't _admit_ you get hurt," Elena points out, seeing right through him again (he HATES how easily she can read him; especially right now). "You get angry and cover it up, and then you do something stupid."

And there it is; the reason she _really_ wants to know how he's handling everything that's happened so far. It's not anything at all to do with feeling a little _guilty_ for leading him on, or to finally admit what he's known since their dance; it's all about her perfect little world possibly crashing down around her, and _him_ being the catalyst of it.

"You're scared," he taunts her. "You think _Katherine's_ going to send me off the deep end. I don't need _her_ for that." He turns away, before he does something _really stupid_ and tells her the reason he's upset has nothing to do with Katherine and everything to do with _her_. Or, more specifically, her _utter shock_ that he believed he was kissing _her_ last night. Regrettably he's not as in control of his emotions right now as he would like, and he finds himself turning around and doing just the opposite of what he _doesn't_ want to do.

"Why was it such a surprise that I would kiss you?"

"That's not a surprise," she says. "I'm surprised that you thought I'd kiss you back."

"Now I'm hurt" doesn't even _begin_ to describe how he feels right now. It's not so much that she's telling him she doesn't want him (he's used to disappointment) but the way she's looking at him right now is more proof that she's not being honest; and _that_ is what annoys him the most. He sees it in her eyes every time they're getting closer. She would have kissed him if he'd done it in the boarding house, after telling her he wanted it to be real between them; she would have kissed him if he'd stolen her away to some secluded room after their dance; and she would most definitely have kissed him if she'd actually been the one on the porch with him last night!

He knows he _needs_ to walk away, _now_, before he decides to prove it to her in front of the whole town. He's about to do just that when the witch shows up with _more_ bad news and Elena runs off to find Stefan. By this point, Damon's just itching for a good fight, and since he can't _kill_ anyone, he figures taunting his brother is the next best thing.

"I _kissed_ Elena," he shouts after him later, when Stefan doesn't take the bait.

"Because you feel something for her," Stefan shouts back. "Because you actually _care_."

Yes, he cares; and it fucking _sucks_! He didn't ask for this, and he doesn't want it, and he wishes that he could just turn it off again. He wishes that Stefan would just stop spouting all this crap about not letting Katherine break them apart and just fucking rip into him like he wants to; because right now, Damon _needs_ the outlet for his frustration. He can't have Elena, and he can't kill anyone, so beating the crap out of Stefan (and maybe letting him get a few punches in, just for the hell of it) is pretty much the only outlet he has left…and it's being denied.

So after Stefan walks away, Damon goes home to drink himself into a stupor and try to forget the past 48 hours ever happened. He pours himself a glass, but the amber liquid doesn't even touch his lips before _she_ appears.

"Very brave of you to come here," he says calmly, though with a deliberate undertone of danger to his voice. He is _not_ in the mood for her games, and he makes that quite clear as he tells her not to pout. "It's not attractive in a woman your age," he adds snarkily, because she deserves it. He doesn't know what her plans were, and he doesn't want to know; and if she's decided to leave, then he's not going to stop her. He officially does not care anymore. Whatever they shared together, whatever he felt for her, it obviously means nothing at all; otherwise she wouldn't have pretended to be in the tomb, and he probably never would have come back to Mystic Falls and had his heart stomped on all over again. Yeah, he's bitter; and angry, and pissed off, and frustrated, and about to snap if she doesn't Get. The. Hell. Out. Now.

But since when does Katherine do what he wants her to?

He starts to walk away from her, but she appears directly in his path, taunting him with her sexy little pouty lips and asking for a "goodbye kiss".

He'd rather kill her instead at this point. She's fucked with him enough, and he's ready to end it for good. If he doesn't get away from her, he's certain that's exactly what will happen. The only problem is that she won't _let_ him walk away. She keeps taunting him, telling him to kiss her or kill her, and getting so fucking close to his face that he is severely tempted—and the complete mind-fuck is that he wants to do _both_.

He turns away from her, about to tell her to go to hell, but then she's in front of him once more, and this time she pins him to the floor. He can feel every inch of her pressing against him, her thighs straddling his hips as she slowly grinds into him. He tries to remain unaffected, but she looks like Elena, and besides that, Katherine was still his first love no matter how much he hates her for her lies; and she wants _him_ right now. She purrs in his ear, "my sweet, innocent Damon," and it's all he can do to prove her wrong about that. He's not innocent; not anymore. He flips her onto her back with ease, and now the tables have turned and _he's_ in control. She smiles up at him with that sexy, triumphant look that is pure _Katherine_, and he's suddenly back in 1864; back in that time when she was his wild, untamable, _passionate_ lover. It doesn't matter that she used him, lied to him…she still wants him; otherwise her body wouldn't be reacting so quickly to his. So instead of killing her, he chooses that first option, and it's electric fire in his veins.

She's just as he remembered, her body arching under his and her nails digging into his skin. She quickly takes control again, slamming him against the wall and tearing his shirt open as he's ripping the front of hers. They're clawing at each other, unable to get close enough, and he can't seem to stop tasting her skin. God, he forgot how much she affected him. He turns her around, sweeps the books off the nearest surface he can find, and sits her on it as she wraps her legs around his waist and draws him closer. She's writhing against him, already lost in her passion, and he's so tempted to just tear off the rest of their clothes and sink himself into her over and over again until they both pass out from exhaustion or combust into flames—whichever happens first. The only problem is that he _needs_ to know she's going to stay this time; that it's not another one of her games; that it's real; that what happened 145 years ago actually meant _something_ to her. So he pulls away, even though he's still throbbing for her, and he asks her for the only thing he's ever truly wanted from her. He knows they can start over; they can be as they were before, maybe even better than they were before. He's willing to forgive her, and forget Elena, and go back to his original plan of running off with Katherine and living his version of "happily ever after" with her; all she has to do is say the words.

She stares up at him, places her hands over his as he gently strokes her cheeks, looks deeply into his eyes…and then she shatters his heart into a million pieces.

"I've never loved you," she says, without even a shred of remorse. "It was always Stefan."

And it's over; just like that. His last shred of hope that she actually cared is extinguished with those words and the pitying look in her eyes before she walks out the door and out of his life.

He doesn't remember how many bottles he went through, or even how he got to her house; all he remembers is that somewhere between the mindless consumption of expensive liquor and wishing it would actually make him numb (instead of just mildly buzzed, and very depressed) he had this overwhelming need to see _her_. So he finds himself in her room, sitting on her bed and just staring off into the darkness under the pretense of protecting her from Katherine (though he doubts she's still in town). Elena nearly jumps out of her skin when she walks into her room.

"You scared me," she says, a little out of breath.

He continues to stare at nothing in particular, muttering how he's her trusty bodyguard, and shrugging off whatever gratitude she's expressing for him always acting as said bodyguard.

"Have you been drinking?" she asks, sounding more worried than accusing. He turns his head slightly to look at her, squinting his eyes because she's just a little fuzzy around the edges, and holds his fingers up in the universal sign for "just a bit". It's not a lie, technically, since he just stopped counting after drink number 3—and he's still conscious.

Elena is suddenly on her guard, watching him warily. "And you're upset," she says carefully. "That's not a good combination."

"I'm not upset," he tells her. "Upset is an emotion specific to those who care."

If she were anyone else, she would probably just leave it at that; write him off as an unfeeling, alcoholic prick with a tendency toward violence, and leave him to wallow in his misery. If she were anyone else, she wouldn't be standing here with that look on her face; the one that he can never quite read, but has always recognized as something more than just the concern of a friend. The truth is she understands him in a way that no one else has ever bothered to. She sees past his sarcasm, his deflections, and his constant declarations that he doesn't have the ability to care about anything, and no matter how many times he's pushed her away, she's too stubborn to let him do it. Instead, she always gives him _that look_, wraps her arms around him in a hug, and silently pleads for him to let her in; into his heart and into his soul (if he even still has one). And for what purpose? Because she's his _friend_? No, he's seen her with her friends, and she's never looked at Caroline, Bonnie, or Matt the way she looks at him. Hell, she doesn't even look at her _brother_ the way she looks at him.

"You're _surprised_ that I thought you'd kiss me back?" he asks pointedly, throwing her words back at her. "You can't imagine that I'd believe you'd want to? That what we've been doing here _means_ something?"

She backs away, pleading him with her eyes not to push this. For once, however, he's not going to back down or play it off as if it's only his pride that's hurting; she started this, and he's not leaving until she admits the truth to him and to herself.

"You're the liar, Elena," he tells her, his eyes burning into hers. "There is something going on between the two of us and you know it." He rises from the bed, moving closer to her. "And you're lying to me, and you're lying to Stefan, and most of all you're lying to _yourself_," he whispers the words with each step, until he can feel the heat radiating off her skin. He can hear her heart speeding up, and he can tell she's scared, but there's something else too; something she's fighting to keep buried, and refuses to acknowledge at all.

He could easily blame what he's about to do on the alcohol he's consumed, but it would be a lie; alcohol has nothing at all to do with his sudden determination to prove to her that this is _real_, and he's _not_ imagining it. _She_ wants _him, _and the only thing keeping them apart right now is her fear of what that means. He gets it, he does; she's still a girl in a lot of ways, and a real adult relationship is probably terrifying for her. She's not sure how to deal with _her_ feelings anymore than he knows how to deal with _his_, and their relationship wouldn't be easy; they're both incredibly stubborn, and there's going to be a hell of a lot of fighting between them, but if he can only show her what they have together she might just realize that it's worth it to be with him.

So he cups her face in his hands, and tells her he can "prove it". She fights to pull away from him the second his lips press against hers.

"Damon, don't," she pleads, "what's wrong with you?"

What's wrong, she asks? She should be asking herself that question, because there's nothing wrong with _him_. He's merely sick of the games and the lies and the self-denial, and he just can't pretend anymore; he can't pretend that they're just friends, and that's all they could ever be. He can't pretend that seeing her with Stefan isn't killing him; especially knowing that what she has with his brother isn't even in the same vein as the passion she could have with _him_. He can't pretend he'll never have his chance with her; because he _knows_ that if he just kissed her, if she'd only _let_ herself feel it, then she wouldn't be able to lie anymore.

"Lie about this."

She pushes on his shoulders, telling him to stop. "You're better than this," she says softly.

That's where she's wrong. He leans in again, and she pushes his head away, panic arising in her voice. "I care about you," she cries, "I do, but I love Stefan. It's always going to be _Stefan_."

"_It was always Stefan." _Katherine's parting words to him echo in the room, only this time they're not coming from Katherine's cold and unfeeling heart; they're coming from _Elena_. She's looking up at him with tears in her eyes, and it's ironic to him because _he's _the one who's hurting right now, not her. No, it wouldn't be _her_; because she loves _Stefan_. She said it herself; it will never be him. Why would it be? Damon Salvatore isn't worthy of having anyone love him; only people to use him, toy with his feelings, and throw him away for the _better_ brother. Story of his fucking life!

"Elena, what's going on in here?" Jeremy asks, suddenly appearing in the doorway in some lame attempt to defend is sister if he needs to; not that he _could_.

She assures him that everything's okay, even though it's far from ever being _okay_. The woman he loved was cruelly taken from him, and he'd probably give anything not to have to feel that pain. He's about to get his wish.

Elena's screams for him to stop don't even register as he's upon Jeremy in an instant, his hands gripping the boy's head as he hisses at him, "You want to shut off the pain? It's the easiest thing in the world! The part of you that cares just goes away. All you have to do is flip the switch and SNAP!"

Jeremy's neck cracks loudly in his ears, and then he lets the body crumple to the floor. Elena's hovering over her brother, frantically trying to shake him awake, tears streaming down her face. She looks up at him with eyes full of pure hatred, and he knows he's succeeded in wounding her as deeply as she wounded him earlier.

So he leaves her there, still sobbing over Jeremy's lifeless body. He knows she'll never forgive him, and maybe it's better that way; it's far easier to be _hated _than _not_ loved.

* * *

><p>The fourth time, he doesn't even try to kiss her; even though he desperately wishes he could. The only thing that stops him is the knowledge that <em>not<em> kissing her right now is going to be less painful for him than not having her ever remember that he had. He comes to this decision after a lot of careful deliberation on his part, and it's not at all easy for him; in fact, this is probably the hardest, most selfish _and _selfless thing he's ever done in his life. Regardless of the pain it causes him, however, he knows that it's the right thing to do. How did that expression go; if you love something then set it free? Yeah, that's pretty much it in a nutshell; why he's waiting for her in her room tonight—why he's letting her go.

The truth is, even though she's obviously forgiven him (again) for all the shit he's put her through, and even though she's technically _available_ now that she's broken up with Stefan (again), it doesn't change anything; not really. He is still the unstable, homicidal vampire who snapped Jeremy's neck, and even though his magic Gilbert ring happened to fix everything, the hard truth is that without it, he would have been very dead. There's no way around it; Damon fucked up big time, and there's no way of knowing when and if he'll do it again. And the worst part is that next time he snaps it could be _her_ lifeless body he has to deal with.

It's taken weeks of trying to get her to forgive him, and his own newfound role as the reluctant hero to finally have her back in his life, but he's come to the conclusion that keeping her safe means keeping his distance. It means watching this latest threat, planning their next move, and keeping a calm disposition, even when he feels like tearing things apart (while everyone else freaks out around him). Besides that, it's still always going to be Stefan for her, and this little breakup of theirs likely won't last; and if he's completely honest with himself, he knows that Stefan is better for her anyway. He's not going to go snapping the necks of the people she loves when he's upset, for instance.

When she finally comes out of the bathroom, he is so very tempted to abandon that plan, because those little shorts and camisole draw attention to her soft curves and silky skin. If she were his, he would have her lying across the bed, while he feasted on her very willing body. But she's not his. So, to cover his discomfort at her half-dressed state, he flirtatiously comments on her "cute" pjs.

She doesn't take the bait, as she normally would have, and instead gives him a withering glance.

"I'm tired, Damon," she sighs, indicating in her tone that he should go home and just let her sleep. He can't blame her for it though; getting kidnapped and almost offered up to some uber-powerful (and luckily, now uber-dead) vampire would make anyone exhausted. And he will happily let her sleep, in a few minutes.

"Brought you this," he says, dangling the chain between his fingertips so that there's no mistaking what he's returning to her.

"I thought that was gone," she gasps, in awe that he went to the trouble of retrieving her necklace for her.

He shakes his head, smiling softly as she stretches out her hand to take it. He holds it firmly, unwilling to relinquish this small bit of control just yet.

"Please give it back!" she pleads, suddenly on her guard. And it's because she's afraid of him that he knows he's made the right decision.

"I just need to say something first."

"Why do you have to say it with my necklace?" her voice quivers in panic.

He frowns, contemplating the best way to explain it to her, without making her aware of why he's doing it.

"Well, because what I'm about to say is probably the most selfish thing I've ever said in my life."

"Damon, don't go there."

It's as much a plea as it is a warning, and he understands it completely; whatever she might feel for him (and they both know it to be true) she's not ready to face it. But that's okay, because she doesn't have to say anything; honestly, it's better if she doesn't.

"I just need to say it once," he tells her. "You just need to hear it."

She doesn't protest any further, and he proceeds to pour out his heart and soul, baring everything and feeling more vulnerable than he's ever felt in his life.

Through it all, Elena simply stands there, staring at him with an unreadable expression, as if she's holding back tears, and then he knows this is hard for her to accept as much as it is for him.

"I don't deserve you," his voice cracks as he whispers the undeniable truth of their ill-fated relationship (and yes, they had one; it just didn't go beyond the flirting and the kiss he thought was with her). She gasps, inaudibly, but he hears it anyway. And while he'd give anything to let her tell him that's not true, as he can see so clearly in her eyes, he just can't. So he tells her that his brother does deserve her love, knowing full well what he's giving up by stepping aside and letting Stefan have her. And then he leans in, and she imperceptibly tilts her chin up just enough that his lips would land on hers if that were his intention. It's not; he knows he can't kiss her, even if he wiped her memory of it. So he presses his lips to her forehead, and tries to ignore the shuddering breaths as he strokes her face and gazes deeply into her eyes.

"I wish you didn't have to forget this," he whispers, "but you do."

He watches her eyes glaze over, and when he's certain that the compulsion worked, he gently places the chain around her neck and secures the clasp.

He doesn't wait for the trance he put her under to wear off before he disappears into the night; and it's like he was never there.

* * *

><p>The fifth time it happens, he's not even sure it's actually happening. He's pretty much already resigned himself to the fact that he's going to die without ever having his love returned…and then <em>she<em> kisses _him_, and all he can do is say a pitiful "thank you" in response to the parting gift he'd never expected to receive in his last moments, but had always hoped for.

The fact that he _is _dying is odd in itself, even if you ignored the whole vampire aspect. Damon has always prided himself on being one of those who rarely suffered a serious illness (when he was human; obviously), although he has a nearly photographic memory when it comes to watching those he cared about go through the pain of it. When he was seven years old, it was his mother. Like many women of that time, she'd suffered complications while bringing his little brother into the world.

The thing he remembers the most is how pale she'd been when he'd come into her room for what he had no idea would be the last time. Her dark hair, so much like his, had been matted and damp with sweat, and she'd forced a smile that hadn't quite met her tired blue eyes. He remembers how cold she was when he'd taken her hand, and the tearful way she told him to be strong and take care of his brother, always. He remembers how she closed her eyes, and didn't wake again, and how his father had dragged him kicking and screaming from her bedside; and later how he'd been scolded for carrying on ("like a little girl" his father had said) when he'd learned his mother would never again be there to comfort him.

When he was twelve, he'd watched Stefan get sick with pneumonia, after Damon had foolishly kept him out far longer than he should have. They'd been down by the old pond, and Damon was helping his little brother feed the ducklings. It had been a relatively chilly spring morning, and Damon hadn't been thinking when he'd snuck away from the house, promising Stefan an "adventure". After being stuck indoors for weeks, thanks to his father's insisting that it was too cold for Stefan to go outside to play (after losing Mother, Stefan had been unnecessarily coddled and Damon's certain that if it wasn't for him, Stefan would have become an even bigger stick in the mud with no sense of fun), Damon had taken the first opportunity he had a that morning to plan their escape. Unfortunately it wasn't without its consequences; when Stefan started sniffling and developed a high fever, Damon was severely punished, and had not been allowed anywhere near his brother's sick bed (at least, not while everyone was still awake). At night, he would creep into the nursery where his brother lay, and whisper how sorry he was, praying that he would recover. Obviously Stefan survived, but it was still something that haunted him to this day. If Stefan had died, Damon never would have forgiven himself.

On the battlefield he saw more death than anyone could handle. There were boys no older than Stefan, suffering from horrifying injuries and diseases, and the stench of death had been everywhere. He left for good after watching some of his closest childhood friends die pointless deaths for a cause he didn't believe in. Katherine had a lot to do with it too. Hearing the men talk about their girls back home, only to die the next day, had convinced him that deserting was a small price to pay in order to ensure he returned home safely to the beautiful woman who (he thought) loved him. It was after he told her his reason for coming home that she'd shown him her world; a world where he would never be parted from her; a world where death could not touch them. A world where he could literally spend eternity with the woman he loved.

When he woke to find that she'd been trapped in the church that was now consumed in flames, he'd made the decision to die without another thought. He'd prepared himself for it; accepted it. She was gone, after all, and he'd only chosen this path to be with her. But when Stefan awoke soon after, he had felt the sting of betrayal (from both of them) and dying was no longer just about losing her; it was about turning off the painful ache in his chest.

He faced death every day after Stefan forced him to turn; Stefan took to the life of a cold-blooded and ruthless killer, scattering the bodies of the founding families wherever he went, and enjoying their anguished screams as he ripped into their throats. It was too much for Damon to handle, watching his brother become this monster with a relish for the hunt and the kill, so he'd left. It wasn't until he let the frustration and anger consume him that he realized just how easy it was to turn off the guilt.

He's killed indiscriminately, mostly because he was pissed off at the victim, and partly because he liked it. It was a relief for him; not to feel, not to care. He killed Isobel because she'd asked him too, and because she was miserable. He hadn't known all the details, nor had he cared. He felt he was doing her a favor. Death was the inevitable conclusion to end a lifetime of misery and suffering; it's why he killed Vicki Donovan, too. Well, that, and because he was bored and wanted someone new to wreak havoc with. But that's all changed now; _he's_ changed, and the one thing he's come to realize is this: Dying sucks; but it's easier if you're not alone. He didn't understand when his mother died, why his father had been so cold to him. Why he would resent him just because his mother wanted him in her last moments, why she'd insisted that she only have her boys with her, and not her husband. He does now. She wanted to be with those she loved most, and in a time when love was almost unheard of in marriage, the closest she had to that were her sons. For him, it's Elena. It's kind of a double edged sword, because he loves her so much and knows that she'll never return those feelings. But none of that matters, because soon he'll be gone and she'll live happily ever after with his brother, because that's the way it's supposed to be.

He was never meant to get the girl.

For the time being, however, he can be content that she's here with him, and in her own words, she's not going anywhere; she'll be with him until the end. There's still a part of him that wishes she would leave, because he doesn't want her seeing him like this. It's pathetic that this is how it all ends; he was supposed to go out in a blaze of glory, preferably taking a few enemies with him; not lying here in bed with a fever and having Elena tend to him like he's a sick child that needs comforting. Elena presses the cool washcloth to his skin, mopping the sweat from his brow, and whispers to him that there's still hope; that Stefan will find a cure. He doesn't have it in him to tell her it's not going to happen; that he'll be dead within the hour.

There's just so many things he wishes he could say to her; so many things he needs to make right, and he knows he's running out of time.

"I've made a lot of choices that have gotten me here," he tells her. "I deserve this; I deserve to die."

"No," Elena says firmly, her voice quivering slightly as she turns her body toward his. "You don't."

He smiles because to the very end, she sees more in him than he's capable of seeing in himself; she still believes he's good, even after everything he's done.

"I do, Elena," he sighs, "it's okay; because if I had chosen differently…I wouldn't have met you."

He expects her to pull away, or at least tell him off for his deathbed confession when she's still not convinced that Stefan won't find a way to save him; but she doesn't.

"I'm so sorry; I've done so many things to hurt you."

His vision is beginning to blur, but he still manages to spot the tears slowly making their way down her cheeks. "It's okay," she replies softly. "I forgive you."

It's as he's looking into her eyes, that he realizes he can't die without first telling her how he feels; and she needs to remember it this time.

"I know that you love Stefan," he rasps, (and he tries not to read too much into her taking his hand in hers and snuggling into his chest) "that it will always be Stefan...but I love you. You should know that."

Her body trembles ever so slightly with the force of her silent tears, and she squeezes him tighter, as if afraid to let go.

"I do," she whispers.

He smiles, thinking of how different things could have been if he'd met her first, or if she'd been born in his time; when he'd been softer, sweeter, and worthy of her.

"You should have met me in 1864," he sighs, trying to be flirtatious and playful even though he's so tired, and his voice is almost gone. "You would have liked me."

The weight of her body shifts as she lifts her head and looks at him with a soft smile on her lips.

"I like you now," she breathes softly. "Just the way you are."

It's enough for him; to know that she doesn't hate him for all the things he's done, and to know that he was accepted, and he was loved. So he closes his eyes, ready to let sleep overtake him...and then he feels it. The softest brush of her lips on his, in a bittersweet kiss that feels to him as much of an admission that yes, she does love him (and always will), as much as it is a goodbye.

Their tender moment is interrupted by the most unlikely source, and they both turn their heads toward the direction of the voice.

"It's me you should be thanking," Katherine drawls, holding up a glass bottle of dark blood. "I'm the one who brought the cure."

Elena scrambles off the bed, allowing the unlikely heroine of the day to step closer; but not without Katherine first expressing surprise and consternation that Elena is still alive. Ordinarily, Damon would express his disappointment that _she_ survived, but the fact that she's here at all, and that she has the cure, is enough to stun his normally sarcastic tongue into silence.

"You got free," he says instead, surprised.

"Yep; Klaus let me go." she confirms, tilting the bottle toward his parched lips. It's a little bitter, and has this disgusting tang to it (like he's dining on puppy blood) but he drinks it down obediently.

"And you still came here?"

"I owed you one." She pats his cheek in a way that once used to make his heart leap into his throat, but now, he feels nothing but gratitude. He decides that he made the right call after all, when he'd decided to give her the vervain, and that maybe she's not as much of a heartless bitch as she would lead people to believe.

Not that he's looking to forgive her completely and make her his new bff or anything, but maybe he'll consider not staking her on sight the next time she decides to drop by unannounced.

There's one thing he's curious about though...why is _she_ here, and not...

"Where's Stefan?" Elena finishes his thought.

"Are you sure you care?" Katherine quips in her sing-song voice. Then she holds up the half empty bottle and her tone is more somber. "He's paying for this; he gave himself over to Klaus."

Damon listens intently, furrowing his brow in confusion, because what the hell does that even mean? He wishes that this miracle cure worked a little faster, because he has a feeling he should be tracking his brother down _now_, while he still has the chance; because whatever Klaus wants Stefan for, it can't be good.

"He just sacrificed everything to save his brother," Katherine informs Elena, and Damon doesn't have to see her face to know that she's gloating when she adds "including you," "good thing you have Damon to keep you company," and, to make an awkward situation even worse, she adds, "it's okay to love them both; I did."

And then she's gone, and all he can do is look up at Elena, whose expression is unreadable at the moment. She looks shocked, horrified, and worried all at once, and he wishes he could wrap his head around everything that's happened in the past forty eight hours, but he can't.

He mutters something about "needing to take a shower" and essentially locks himself in the bathroom. The cool spray feels good against his still-slightly overheated skin, and he stays in there far longer than it takes for the smell of sweat and sickness (and death) to leave him and be replaced by the spicy scent of his shampoo and body wash.

He closes his eyes, trying to drown out the sound of Elena's voice as she starts calling up the few friends and family that might actually care that he's not dead; even though the one person who truly _needs_ to know this bit of information is missing (and presumably off the wagon, though he doesn't want Elena to know that).

The irony is that there was a time when Damon had wanted this; he'd had more than a few fleeting daydreams about Stefan falling off his pedestal, and leaving a devastated Elena behind...and of course Damon's always there to pick up the pieces in these fantasies.

He should be happy about this turn of events; but he's not. Because with Stefan MIA, Damon is left to clean up any mess left behind in the wake of his brother's self-destructive turn. He's facing months of chasing down any possible leads, burning the bodies of the many unfortunate victims, covering Stefan's ass so that any rogue vampire hunters don't come after him, and of course waiting for the first opportunity that comes his way so he can drag Stefan back to rehab. The only problem is that it's not just _him_ that Damon has to worry about (unlike the decades before, when the only thing he had to think about was keeping off Stefan's radar while tailing him across states and continents). Now he also has the fun task of keeping Elena, and the rest of their band of misfits (save for Ric) out of the loop while he tracks his brother's every move through gruesome "animal attacks". And if it's anything like the 1920s in Chicago...well, he doesn't really want to think about that right now. He has a girl to protect, and though he's anxious to find his brother, his priority right now is to keep Elena safe and blissfully ignorant to the horrible massacres that are sure to take place in the next few days (without giving her false hope that Stefan will be coming back any time soon).

So, he takes a deep breath, that he doesn't actually need, (but is calming, nevertheless) and shuts off the water, ready to finally face the uncertain future.


	2. Light the Match

Disclaimer and Warning: I do not own Vampire Diaries, however consider this story mine. Any dialogues not canon from the show as well as any descriptive sentences are the end result of over twenty years of writing. I have poured my heart and soul into every beautiful paragraph, every perfect sentence, every hot and/or romantic scene, and every funny one-liner. To copy this work or any other and claim as one's own, in whole or in part is a criminal offence punishable by ostracism, harassment by my loyal readers, and possibly even dismissal by the MODs. **Repeat offenders will be reported IMMEDIATELY to Stop_Plagiarism on LiveJournal and your name will be placed on the watch list under all known aliases.** It's not worth it; don't be a thief !

**Part II: Light the Match…**

He loses count of how many times he kisses her after that. Sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth…they all spread out during the course of six months. Sometimes they're the sweet, loving little kisses that they can't help but share as they catch themselves in a weak moment, and sometimes they're the bitter, angry kisses shared during one of their many battles of wills—and it's in those moments when he wants to throttle her for being so incredibly difficult that he kisses her instead.

The first time it happens, he means it to be a small peck on the cheek; a thank you for taking care of him when he was sick. But as he comes out of the shower, dressed in a pair of low-riding pants (for _her_ sake, as he normally prefers to sleep naked), she's sitting on his bed; dressed in those cute blue PJs of hers (the same ones she wore when he told her he loved her the first time), waiting for him to return.

"I called Ric," she says. "I told him you're okay, and he's staying with Jeremy tonight at the house, so I think I might just crash here."

Damon furrows his brow in confusion, because he really isn't sure what to say at the moment. He would have assumed that she would have left by now, since clearly he's going to live and she no longer has to play nursemaid (he immediately pushes back the Sexy Nurse Elena fantasy, because now is really not the time for him to be thinking about sex—and definitely not the time to be thinking about sex with _her_).

"Suit yourself," he shrugs, making his way toward his bed. Despite the fact that he's technically feeling better, getting bitten by a werewolf and almost dying has taken a lot out of him; he's exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and right now all he wants to do is sleep.

As he pulls back the covers and climbs into bed, he notices Elena worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. He looks at her with a questioning arch of his brow, because he thought she was going to bed.

"Do you need me to tuck you in?" he teases, only half joking.

Color stains her cheeks, but she doesn't look away from him; in fact, her eyes momentarily linger on his bare chest and he can swear that her heart is pounding a little faster— and the blood is pumping to places he just shouldn't be thinking about right now. He's certain his mind is playing tricks on him; because there's no way that she's having the same thoughts he is.

"N-No," she replies, her voice quivering with nervous excitement. Her eyes keep darting from his chest, to his face, then to the crisp white sheets on his bed, and it's confusing the hell out of him. She said she was going to bed; which he assumed meant Stefan's bed, so she could cry herself to sleep, while breathing in his scent, and pining away for him. But she's not moving, and she keeps _looking_ at him with an expression he just doesn't want to read too much into, for the sake of his own sanity.

And then she does the last thing he'd ever expect from her (she's just full of surprises tonight). She pulls back the covers, and climbs into bed _with_ him.

Damon tries to remain calm, and not let his body betray how much he wants her, but that's easier said than done when the one girl who drives him out of his fucking mind is currently wiggling around in _his_ bed, half-naked. As if she's decided it's not enough torture, she moves to snuggle up to him, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. He tries to pull away from her—human strength, of course, since he doesn't want to hurt her—but she wraps an arm around his waist and squeezes him to indicate she does not want to let him go.

"Just let me get the light," he says, biting back a low growl of frustration because he can't find the strength to make her leave, and he really doesn't want her to.

She rolls away from him, and he is thankful for the short reprieve of having her pressed against his side (things were getting _uncomfortable_ for him). It's short-lived, however, because the second he turns off the lamp, she's back at his side, practically nuzzling his chest. The position she's in makes it nearly impossible for him to _not_ put his arm around her, and it's that one simple gesture that causes her to sigh with contentment before whispering a sleepy "Goodnight, Damon."

He follows her into a deep sleep after that, but finds himself stirring awake again sometime past midnight. Elena is still curled up against him, her head nestled quite comfortably in the crook of his shoulder and her arm draped across his stomach. He can't help but notice that her hand moved in her sleep, and her little fingertips are brushing dangerously close to the waistband of his pants. He knows that she's not doing it on purpose, but being this close to her is more than he can handle; especially when he keeps remembering the soft touch of her lips.

Realizing that he has no choice but to move, he carefully tries to untangle himself from her. She whimpers softly in her sleep, as if sensing he's about to leave her, and she suddenly throws one leg over his to keep him from going anywhere. Damon sighs in defeat, thoroughly frustrated because he knows it's going to be several hours of _this_ before she wakes up and realizes the compromising position they're in. He tries to take his mind off of the situation, because thinking about her pressed against him is just making things harder for him (pun fully-intended).

He decides to focus on the situation with his brother, and wonders just what the hell Katherine meant when she said Stefan gave himself over to Klaus. He's not sure he _wants _to know. But as soon as he's well-rested and has all his strength back, he'll be going after the bastard to rescue Stefan from whatever stupid half-cocked deal he made in exchange for saving his own life.

He spends the next several hours devising several different scenarios, all of which involve him somehow finding new and creative methods of killing Klaus. It's as he's thinking up another one, this time an elaborate decapitation followed by the satisfying removal of Klaus' heart through the gaping hole in his neck, that Elena finally stirs beside him. A quick glance at the window indicates that it's not quite dawn.

She rubs the sleep out of her eyes, and a soft blush colors her cheeks as she notices she's been lying half on top of him for the past four hours. Surprisingly, she doesn't move away in embarrassment.

"Hey," she whispers softly, her voice still somewhat sleepy.

He's convinced she's still half dreaming, because she closes her eyes again, and nuzzles against him in an obvious display of affection that he's certain is only happening because she thinks he's Stefan. Never mind that he looks nothing like his brother—He's dark, Stefan's light; he's a man, Stefan's a boy; he's _here_ and Stefan is off who knows where.

So it's just unfathomable that Elena would be cuddling with _him_ right now when her boyfriend is missing. Ergo, she must be hallucinating; probably because he took too much of her blood last night.

He carefully untangles their limbs and rolls away from her just enough to gain the space he needs to compose himself.

"It's still early," he rasps. "Go back to sleep, Elena."

Her lashes flutter open and she gives him another soft, sweet little smile.

"Thank you," she whispers, "for letting me stay with you. I...I didn't wanna be alone tonight." He barely hears her; also, he thinks he's imagining the whole thing. There is no way that Elena would really be thanking him for letting her sleep in his bed (with _him_), and there is no way that she would be wiggling her body closer at this moment to put her arms around him _again_. He wonders if maybe _he's _the one who's dreaming.

She takes advantage of his momentary distraction to use his shoulder as her pillow, and before he can stop himself from doing something _incredibly stupid_, he presses a soft kiss to her cheek. Or he tries to, anyway; because the moment that he closes his eyes, she turns in his arms and tilts her head so that his lips land somewhere else. He'd pull away if he wasn't completely stunned by her boldness. What should have been a chaste kiss is anything but, and surprisingly _he's_ not the one turning up the heat. As soon as their lips touch, she becomes a woman possessed. Elena's tongue flicks out to run over his bottom lip and her hand slides up to stroke the side of his neck. When he tries to pull away she moves with him, keeping their mouths in constant contact as she slowly wears down his defenses and convictions that _this_ is _not _actually happening. It _can't_ happen.

He tries to resist her, he really does, but he's not made of stone; when her fingers tangle into his hair, he ends up rolling her onto her back and hovering over her.

He tells himself that he's only going to kiss her, that's it; he will not touch her, or taste her skin, or press his hips into hers, or feel the heat between her thighs. He will not make love to her the way he's wanted to since he first realized he was in love with her.

He ends up doing all of the above, with the exception of that last one.

Her legs are wrapped tightly around his hips and she's rocking against him, getting him harder than he ever thought possible. Every soft little whimper coming from her throat spurs him on, until he's tempted to just tear off every scrap of fabric keeping them apart and sink into her body over and over until they're both too exhausted to move anymore.

The only problem is that he really, really shouldn't be doing this; at least not right now, when emotions are still so raw, and neither one of them is thinking clearly. It takes a lot of effort on his part, but he finally manages to break their kiss.

"Elena," he pants, "We have to…" She bites his lower lip to shut him up, and her hands press into the back of his neck and shoulders as she pulls him closer, cutting off any protest he may have had. If he were capable of it at the moment, he would be rolling his eyes in annoyance because she's not making this easy on him. Just once, he would love to _not_ have to be in control all the god damn time.

"Elena," he says, more forceful this time, tearing himself away from her lips. "Stop."

She stares at him in shock, looking like he just slapped her. She's hurt; he can see it in her eyes as she stubbornly fights back tears, and he feels like an ass. And then in an instant the look is gone, and she's hiding behind a myriad of excuses. She apologizes profusely, agreeing that now is not the time for this, and that she was just upset because he almost died last night; and then she's stumbling out bed, her cheeks stained crimson, and mutters "I should go…" before bolting out the door like she can't get away fast enough.

* * *

><p>Fast forward to a few weeks later and Damon's back with Andie; he knows it's incredibly cruel to use the poor woman like he has been, but it's the only way he can think of to keep some distance between him and Elena. It's the only way he can keep her from starting the conversation he just can't have with her; right now, his only priority should be looking for his brother, and dragging his ass home where he belongs. <em>She<em> of all people should understand that; if there's one thing they will always agree on it's that family comes first, _always_. So, because he's not able to give her what she keeps asking for right now, he figures the only solution is to make it impossible for her to be around him. Enter the "girlfriend".

He knows it bothers her every time he brings Andie to the Grill and flaunts her around like the arm candy she is. Whenever he pecks her on the lips at their table, he can feel Elena glaring daggers at him, or rather, at his date. He knows she's jealous, and a part of him does get a little thrill out of the whole thing. After all, just a few months ago she'd been doing the same thing to him. Every time he'd watched her with Stefan, it had been like a stake being shoved right into his gut. So yeah, in a way she deserves this; she deserves to know what it feels like to want someone so badly and not be able to have them. And yeah, he also hates that he's hurting her, but what other choice does he have? Besides, she's only eighteen and has her whole life ahead of her; she'll eventually get over it.

That's what he tells himself the night of Carol Lockwood's Halloween party, anyway. He deliberately brings Andie as his date, because truthfully going to these functions alone at his age is all kinds of pathetic. Sure, he could probably have amused himself by flirting with Carol, but that might give Tyler a reason to bite him again. So instead he parades around the room with Andie on his arm, and she's dressed in the flowing white gown he imagines Aphrodite might have worn (although in his head he always pictured the Goddess of Love as a brunette, regardless of what the books and paintings would have to say about it). He's well aware of the stares of the other men in the room as they openly ogle his date, but he barely gives them a thought. He's too busy scanning the room for Elena, even though he swore to himself that he wouldn't.

"I still think we should have coordinated," Andie says, turning his attention away from the rest of the party guests.

"You just wanna see me draped in nothing but a sheet," he teases her. "Besides, I look _good_ in a suit; why mess with perfection?" And then, having spotted a certain pair of brown eyes staring at them just a few feet from where they're currently standing on the lawn, he gives her his most flirtatious grin and playfully pinches her ass. Andie is quick to admonish him for it, reminding him that they're in public (but grinning nonetheless) and his heightened senses immediately register Elena's sharp intake of breath, as if he's physically wounded her by showing off like he has been. It makes him ache, not being able to simply go to her and take her into his arms, and it doesn't help at all that she's incredibly beautiful in her Renaissance gown; like a princess in royal blue velvet. He has to remind himself that he is not her prince, and that this is not a fairy tale. So he forces himself to look away from her, and dips his head to playfully nuzzle his date's neck; when he looks up again, Elena's gone.

After he drops Andie off at her apartment a few hours later, he returns home; intending to finish off whatever's still left of his liquor supply. He immediately has a sense of déjà vu, because a certain dark haired beauty is waiting for him on the plush sofa; well, lounging is probably the more appropriate word here. He isn't sure how long she's been here, but it's clear that she's been waiting for him; maybe even since she disappeared from the party.

"Where's your date?" she asks, not bothering to hide her jealousy.

Damon shrugs, ignoring her in favor of pouring himself a glass full of amber liquid. "I took her home," he replies. "I wore her out these last few nights, and she needed her rest."

It's a lie; one of the many he's been telling her lately. The truth is he's barely touched Andie out of the public eye (and by "public", he means Elena). He hasn't even been the slightest bit tempted to feed on her, either.

"It's not working, just so you know," Elena informs him, tilting her chin up in defiance.

"What's not working?" he asks, casually sipping his drink and trying to appear completely indifferent to her presence (uninvited, he might add) in his home.

Elena narrows her eyes as if she's trying to see right through him. "This pathetic attempt to convince me you've moved on, when we both know it's all an act."

He smirks at her. "How would _you _know?" he asks her pointedly.

Elena stands up, staring directly into his eyes. "I know you keep trying to push me away; to hurt me in some way so that I give up on you and move on," she says, stepping closer to him. It's an odd thing, seeing her dressed like a demure maiden from the 15th century, and yet there's that fire in her eyes and a stubbornness that no 15th century maiden could ever have hoped to achieve.

"It's not going to work," she whispers softly. "No matter how much we try to fight it…"

"Elena…" He practically growls her name in warning, clenching the glass until it threatens to shatter in his hand. "You're playing a _very_ dangerous game."

"Who says I'm playing?"

He's frozen in place as she moves toward him like a cat stalking its prey, her eyes burning into his with such intensity that he's certain the entire room is going to burst into flames.

"We did things your way," she says, licking her lips in determination. "Now we're going to try mine."

He knows what she intends to do, and honestly it scares the hell out of him; because if he lets her this time, he won't be able to blame it on the fact that he'd almost died, or that she'd been too upset to know what she was doing. If they do this, there's no going back.

He's not sure who makes the first move; whether it's _her_ wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him closer, or him cupping her face in his hands, he really doesn't know, nor does he care. He's waited for this for too long, and denied himself the sheer pleasure of having her clinging to him as if her very life depends on how close she can get to him. He tumbles onto the couch with her lying on top of him, straddling his hips. Her full skirt fans over their legs, and he can feel her heat through his pants. When she grinds down on him and takes control of the kiss, he grips the arm of the sofa and nearly tears it in two in his attempts to _not_ flip her onto her back and take her right there.

She leans close to his ear, letting out a breathy little moan. "Touch me," she says, her voice filled with raw need.

He recognizes the scent of Tequila on her breath, and is quick to study her cautiously.

"How much have you had to drink?" he asks.

She shrugs. "Enough to give me the courage to do this, but not enough that I'll regret it in the morning."

Okay, so he knows that's not really an answer, but before his brain can remind him that this is a very _bad_ idea, his hands are already palming her breasts. She moans louder this time and pushes herself forward on his hands to increase the pressure. Her nipples pebble into hard little buds beneath the thin velvet of her bodice, and it takes a moment for his desire-fogged mind to register that she's not wearing a bra. His thumbs easily locate the sensitive little peaks, circling and pinching them until she cries his name with an edge of desperation to her voice.

Her nails are clawing his shirt, tearing at the buttons because she's too far gone to even _try_ to undo them with her shaking fingers; and he's too busy trying to figure out how to get her out of her dress to do it himself. At last he finds the little ties at the base of her spine, and quickly unlaces them. The warm velvet material, now damp from her heated skin, falls from her shoulders and she's suddenly bare from the waist up. Likewise, she's made quick work of destroying his shirt, but he is too focused on the feeling of having her skin against his to care. He sits up, hugging her body close to his so that her knees are pressed to either side of his hips, and captures her lips in another hungry kiss.

She threads her fingers through his hair, and it sends shivers through him; starting at the back of his neck and shooting straight to his cock. He needs her so badly that he's nearly going out of his mind, but he forces himself to slow down, restricting his touch to just above the waist (but still not ruling out the grinding of their hips).

He glides his tongue over her neck, dipping into the soft crevice of her collarbone before slowly tracing a path to the soft rises of her breasts. He can feel the crazy pulse beneath her skin; can practically taste it. The bloodlust hits him full-force, and before he can get control of it his fangs accidentally prick her skin. She jumps in his arms and he pulls his head back in alarm, because he honestly hadn't meant to bite her. It shocks him that he has, because Damon Salvatore has always prided himself on being perfectly controlled when with a woman. The only way this could possibly be _more_ humiliating for him would be if he also came in his pants just from her rocking on top of him (and embarrassingly, he's close to doing _that_, too).

It's the sharp, sweet scent of her blood that sets fire to his senses; his inner demon screams at him to take her, and suddenly he's picturing another night and another costume. Elena, standing before him in a white nurse's dress, stained red with her blood. He'd been fighting for control even then, before he had realized the depths of his feelings for her; now it's even worse because unlike before, she's not pulling away from him. Her breath is still shallow, and her heavily lidded eyes remain locked on his, watching and waiting for him to taste her.

It's too much for him, and he immediately turns his head away from her.

"You should probably go," he says.

"Damon…" she whispers pleadingly, reaching out to touch his cheek. He flinches against her soft touch, his eyes burning into hers as he tells her (without words) that _now_ is not the time to be touching him.

"_Go," _he tells her again, and this time the tone in his voice leaves no room for arguments.

There's a rustling of fabric as Elena slips back into the sleeves of her dress and pulls the bodice up to cover her breasts. As soon as she's decent she carefully moves to stand, turning her back to him.

"Umm," she clears her throat and glances over her shoulder at him, biting her lip nervously, "Can you…"

He nods his head, and quickly and laces her dress back up for her faster than he'd ever thought possible.

"Done," he says.

She turns around to face him, and he recognizes her frown as one of disappointment; as if she'd hoped he would have changed his mind about making her leave.

"What? No goodbye kiss?" she asks. Her tone is teasingly flirtatious, but her eyes give her away; he can see the hope there, and it nearly unravels the last thread of his resolve not to give in to her.

"You and I both know that's not a good idea right now," he tells her seriously.

She opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts her off. "Goodnight, Elena," he sing-songs.

She sighs, defeated, and makes her way to the door.

"This isn't over," she says softly.

He pretends not to hear her, even though they both know he does; and when the door finally shuts behind her, he lets out the breath he's been holding. It's no good; her scent still lingers in the room. He paces the floor like a caged beast; occasionally cursing at the empty room as he tries to figure out a new plan of action. It's clear that Elena is determined to tear down every last wall he's ever built up, and with Stefan oh-so-conveniently out of the picture there's nothing at all to distract her from her goal. The only problem is that with Stefan gone, Elena can't make a clear choice; and Damon doesn't feel like being part of a "love the one you're with" scenario, because what happens when Stefan comes back?

So he grabs his phone and sends a quick text to Ric, asking him to pack his best weapons, and heads upstairs to change out of his party clothes and into something more Badass Vampire-Hunter-y. It's time to go find his brother.

Truthfully, he's hoping that Elena will choose him regardless of whether Stefan's in the picture or not, but there's that small, insecure part of him that fears she _won't_. And he'd rather know for sure, before things go any further between them, which Salvatore has her heart.

* * *

><p>Surprisingly it doesn't take more than a few weeks to find Stefan; mostly because the trail of dead bodies makes him very easy to follow. And with a little help from Ric, Damon has his brother securely locked in his cell, complete with enough chains and vervain to keep him immobile for at least a few days; or until he's no longer <em>insane<em>, whatever comes first. So far, keeping Stefan barely conscious seems to be the only thing stopping him from trying to pull the chains out of the wall. It's unsettling to say the least. Damon's heard stories over the years about what Stefan was like when he wasn't striking fear into the hearts of the forest animals, and he had even seen a little of what Stefan was capable of back in 1864, but _this?_ He never would have thought Stefan could ever be so _feral_. When Damon had finally found him, it was just too horrible to describe; Stefan had been tearing into a body that was barely recognizable as that of a human girl, due to all the blood and torn or broken limbs. Regrettably, the poor girl had still been _alive _(although just barely_)_, and her anguished cries had only spurred Stefan on to even greater violence; he seemed to _enjoy_ it.

After pumping Stefan with enough vervain darts to take down _ten_ vampires, Ric dragged him out of the warehouse and into the back of the large van he "borrowed" for this purpose, and Damon mercifully snapped the necks of any victims still unlucky enough to be alive (of which there were three; including another girl who couldn't have been older than fifteen). It's in those moments that he's very glad that he decided against telling Elena where he was going; she would have tried to talk him into taking her with him, and he really hadn't wanted her to see this. Hell, he doesn't want her to_ know_ about it; _he_ doesn't even want to know about it. No one with any shred of humanity would want to know about it.

Regardless, she still comes storming into the house, calling his name; or rather, _demanding_ that he show himself immediately. (Obviously, Vampire Barbie has a big mouth, and swearing her to secrecy when he asked for her help in "calming" the crazed vampire in the cellar hadn't made it clear enough for her that Elena was the one who needed to stay out of the loop.)

"Where is he?" she says, getting right to the reason she came over here with guns blazing.

"And hello to you, too, Elena," he drawls.

She glares at him.

"I'm serious, Damon," she snaps irritably. "Where's Stefan?"

"He's at the rehab center for the criminally insane," Damon replies sarcastically.

Elena presses her lips together in that determined (stubborn) way of hers, and moves three steps past him before he's blocking her path.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demands.

She crosses her arms and glares defiantly.

"Where do you think?"

Her eyes immediately focus on the door leading to the cellar.

He shakes his head. "Not happening."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because he's too unstable for a tearful reunion right now!" Damon snaps at her. "And I don't feel like burying your corpse after Stefan drains you dry."

She seems to consider his warning, and for that Damon breathes a huge sigh of relief. He had been worried that she'd be all _Elena_ on him and insist that the homicidal vampire downstairs would never hurt her.

"How long has he been down there?" she asks; the concern for his brother quite evident in her tone and expression.

He shrugs. "A few days."

Elena narrows her eyes at him. "_A few days_, and you didn't think it was important enough to tell me?"

"I didn't want you to know," he informs her.

She practically explodes with fury at his admission to _deliberately_ keeping this from her. "It's _Stefan,_ Damon! How could you not tell me?"

"Because I know you," he says pointedly, "and I knew that you'd come rushing over here to see him."

"So this is all about you being _jealous_?"

"No," he sighs in exasperation. "This is about me protecting you."

"I don't need to be protected," she says, predictable in her response to that declaration, as always.

"Well it's not your call to make," he informs her.

"The hell it isn't! It's MY life, Damon. Not yours!"

He doesn't know what it is, but something about the way she says those words causes his jaw to clench tightly, and he grips her shoulders _hard_, forcing her head back to look at him.

"You _are_ my life!" he growls, his lips claiming hers and shutting her up before she can even form a response.

It's _raw_, passionate, and so powerful that it's as if the flames are consuming him whole. She claws at him like a wild cat, hungrily devouring him until there is nothing left and all that he is belongs to her.

He has one thought in his head (other than the obvious) and it's that he must have completely lost his mind to be doing this _now_, when his brother is just one floor below them. But in spite of that, he still presses her against the wall, and her legs immediately wrap around his waist, grinding her pelvis against his.

He growls low in his throat, swallowing her cries of pleasure as he uses one hand to brace her against the wall; the other one slips down the front of her jeans.

He really has no idea how they got to this point; he's beginning to suspect that fighting for them has always just been some kind of warped foreplay. It would certainly explain why she's already slick and incredibly hot between her thighs.

He explores her folds, encouraged by her sharp gasps and whimpers; she bucks her hips into his hand, trying to get him right where she needs him, and he gives it to her, pressing his thumb against that bundle of nerves while slipping his index and middle fingers inside her velvet heat.

She bites his lip a little harder than she probably realizes; the tremors wracking through her almost that of someone having an epileptic fit. He knows he's hitting the magic spot when tears start springing to her eyes and she has to pull away from his lips in order to take in shuddering gasps of air.

She's always been beautiful, but in the throes of her passion she's _exquisite_; he'd always known she would be, but his dreams and fantasies in no way compare to the real thing. If it wasn't for the fact that he's aching to be inside her, he would happily make her come all day until she finally passed out from exhaustion.

It takes less than a minute for him to race her up to his room and strip them both of their jeans, and then he's sinking deep inside her. He can feel her nails digging into his backside, demanding for him to go harder; faster; deeper. He's "not close enough", she whimpers; she needs to feel every inch of his skin on hers. She doesn't even notice when he tears off her shirt and bra (or maybe they've denied themselves for so long that she doesn't care), and then she lets out a primal growl and tears open his black button-down without breaking their kiss. By his count, this is now the second shirt of his she's ruined; he makes a mental note to buy a few more (or just stop wearing clothes around her, whichever sounds better).

Her breasts are pressing up against his chest as she hugs him as tightly to her as she possibly can. He alters the angle of his hips and thrusts up, hitting her sweet spot repeatedly with each stroke. As he suckles the side of her neck her can feel her nipples puckering up in reaction, and she shivers violently. He loves the response in her so much that he does it again, and within a few more glorious seconds she's writhing beneath him and whispering his name like a prayer to the gods.

And then he feels that coil inside him tighten, reminding him once again of his own need; he moves faster, determined to bring her with him. She claws at him again, crying out, "Don't stop. Don't you DARE stop!"

He can't help inwardly smirking at that, because it's even more proof that she was made for him; no woman has ever been able to keep up to his level of power or stamina, yet Elena matches him perfectly with every thrust of his hips, and still she urges him to keep going (he'll be amazed if she's able to walk after this).

She screams his name, praises God, and shouts out every filthy, dirty, naughty thing she's ever dreamed of doing with him (and he's pleasantly surprised by how many of those fantasies she's had that perfectly echo his own). She digs her nails into his skin, bites down on his shoulder; and then her inner muscles clamp down around him, coaxing his own orgasm from his loins as she spirals into hers. More than a year of sexual tension, longing, and repressed feelings finally come to fruition in one explosive moment, and it's several glorious minutes before either of them return to their senses. Damon, naturally, is the first to regain use of his limbs and a semi-functioning brain, and when he realizes the enormity of what they've just done (despite the inevitability) he tries to roll off her. Elena hugs him close, squeezing around his semi-hard length.

"Don't," she whispers into his hair. "Just stay with me."

And because he's never been able to argue with her, he allows her to hold him for a good ten minutes until her breathing evens out and she falls into a post-orgasmic coma. He slips out of her carefully, determined not to wake her.

When she finally wakes again, it's several hours later, and Damon's had entirely too much time to think; he tells her it was a mistake, and she slaps him so hard he's sure he has an imprint of her hand on his cheek.

"Okay, I deserve that," he grimaces.

"You're damn right you do!" she spits at him. "You're lucky I care about you because if I didn't you would be on fire right now for the shit you've just pulled!"

Then she smacks him again, this time hitting his chest, and nearly shoving him off the bed (she would have, if not for his superior strength).

"You. Arrogant. Selfish. Stupid. Jerk!" she says, punching his chest with each syllable. "I finally give in to everything I've ever felt for you in over a YEAR, and you act like it means _nothing_? Fuck you!"

She hits him one more time, and then she's scrambling off the bed and searching frantically for her clothes and muttering under her breath that she needs to get out of here. He can see the tears in her eyes that threaten to fall, and he knows he's fucked this up again; just as he knew he always would.

The truth is he doesn't actually regret making love to her, he just regrets the way it happened; there was supposed to be a heartfelt confession of her undying love for him, and him alone, and there was supposed to be romance and slow explorations. It was not supposed to be frantic, and it certainly was not supposed to happen with his brother (her _boyfriend_, for all intents and purposes, since they didn't actually break up) downstairs in detox. He bitterly wonders if this makes him "the other man"; or just a stand-in until Stefan's back to his old, brooding self again. Either way, this isn't what he wanted his relationship with Elena to become, and it fucking sucks!

But regardless of how he feels about the circumstances that led to this moment, he knows that if he doesn't fix this _now_, he'll lose her completely; and he's just not willing to do that. So he rushes over to her and blocks the door so she can't leave his room; at least not until after they talk about this most recent development between them.

She huffs in irritation that he's not moving, and wearily pleads with him to just let her go.

"Get out of the way, Damon," she sighs.

"I'm sorry," he tells her with all the sincerity and remorse he's capable of (without sounding like a pathetic child desperate to escape punishment, anyway). "I'm sorry for making you think that this," he gestures between them, and then looks over at the bed, "didn't mean anything to me; because you should know by now that it means _everything to me. You_ mean everything to me."

His words have the desired effect, and while she's still glaring at him, her shoulders relax and her expression softens just a tiny bit. She keeps her arms crossed over her still-bare chest, and there's vulnerability in her tear-filled eyes.

"Then why would you say it was a mistake?" she asks him, her voice cracking on the last word.

"Because you're still with Stefan," he replies, not even bothering to hide the bitterness in his tone. "I didn't want to start something with you, only for you to decide that it's still going to always be Stefan; and now…" he sighs, defeated, "…I'm not sure I'll be strong enough to let you go; I could have convinced myself before that every fantasy I've ever had was just that, a fantasy. But now I've held you in my arms, breathed in your scent, and tasted your skin; I heard you call out _my _name while I was inside you, and I'm never going to be able to forget it."

"I can't forget it either," she admits softly, bringing one hand up to rest on his shoulder, "and I don't want to."

And just like that, his resolve to stay away from her crumbles to dust as she burns his skin with her touch, and sets his lips on fire with hers. He has this insane need to apologize again (despite the fact he's not that good at expressing his emotions) but as her mouth is currently fused to his, he settles for showing her by slowly making love to her instead.

The rest of the afternoon is spent on his bed, in his shower, and any surface in his room where he can comfortably taste every inch of her.

When they finally come up for air, it's after six and remembering that Elena needs to eat, he suggests she stay for dinner; after all, they still haven't had that conversation regarding their (uncertain) future. Sure, it's pretty clear that she's chosen him (a fact that still has his mind reeling, because he had been convinced the universe hated him up to this point), but there's still that messy business of breaking the news (gently) to his brother. He thinks it might be better if they wait until Stefan's more himself; yeah, he hates sneaking around behind his back (although it would be poetic justice 146 years in coming) but there is just no way in hell he'll be able to keep his hands off Elena until then.

* * *

><p>Trying to keep his hands (and lips; and tongue) off her proves to be an exercise in futility; because even when he tries to keep things PG and ignores the throbbing of his groin, Elena decides they need to make up for lost time. If he was keeping score (and he can't help it because of how crazy he is about her) he would count that she's snuck into his bed six times in the dead of night, and she's surprised him in the shower eight times; six of those being after the previously mentioned Surprise Sleepovers. Then there was that one time at The Mystic Grill, when she texted him from across the room upon arriving after school; she'd told him exactly (and very explicitly, he might add) what she wanted him to do to her, and where. Then she'd headed for the ladies' room, and gave him a saucy little smirk, daring him to follow her; and of course he did.<p>

He'd almost been caught with his head up her skirt in the school parking lot on one particular occasion, but at the last minute he'd heard footsteps, and had pulled away (leaving Elena with this adorably frustrated look on her face).

As guilty as he should feel about doing this while Stefan's still incapacitated, he just can't; sneaking around with Elena is just too _hot_. Also, he's quickly learning that her sex drive is almost as high as his, and the mood is likely to strike at any time (and anywhere), making her incredibly unpredictable. If he was capable of getting her pregnant, she would most definitely need to be on the pill; because carrying a twelve-pack of condoms everywhere is just not realistic.

His point is that being with Elena, even in secret, has turned them both into nymphomaniacs. Not that he's complaining; he's just worried about what that's going to do to them once his baby brother is ready to rejoin society, and they have to cool off for a while.

That's going to be a challenge in itself, because sex with Elena has become so much a part of his everyday activities that he doesn't even remember what he did before (he suspects there was a lot of drinking involved, as he hasn't needed to have so much as a drop of alcohol-aside from the occasional glass of wine, but that always includes Elena; normally naked, and soapy with bubbles.)

But, after several blissful weeks, Stefan finally starts to show signs of improvement (that is to say he's brooding and miserable) and fun time is officially over; at least until Elena breaks up with him and they can finally stop this charade and be together as much as they like.

It's as he's handing Stefan a blood bag (straight from the butcher and 100 percent Stefan-diet-approved) that he gets the standard booty-text. Of course he lies, says it's Ric, and Stefan is luckily too hungry to question it.

When he gets to the house, she's already waiting in a sexy red bra and matching lace panties that he is pretty sure she just bought today during her shopping spree with Bonnie and Caroline (the first assuming that it's for when Stefan's better, the second having some idea but thankfully has enough sense to keep her mouth shut…for once).

"You like?" Elena asks, batting her eyes and swaying her hips provocatively as she models her new "outfit" for him.

Now would be a good time to practice that previously mentioned control, he tells himself, as Elena wraps her arms around him and pulls him into a heated kiss.

He keeps his lips firmly shut, and tenses his shoulders in an effort to _not_ give in.

"What's wrong?" she asks, frowning when she realizes he's not kissing her back. "Normally you'd have me naked by now."

"We need to talk," he tells her, uttering the most dreaded words in the history of relationships.

"Okay…" she says, giving him a questioning look. He can see the fear in her eyes, and knows that this is not going to be an easy conversation to have with her; it's also going to be increasingly difficult to have it while she's in her sexy underwear.

"You should probably get dressed first," he says, giving her a very pointed look.

She nods in understanding and heads toward her bedroom. Out of habit, he follows a few steps behind her (and can't help staring at her ass on the way up the stairs, because hey, he's male), and as soon as they're in her room with her door shut, and Elena ties the sash of her robe around her waist, she spins around to face him with fire blazing in her eyes.

"Okay, get it over with."

"Get what over with?" he asks, furrowing his brow in confusion.

"You're obviously here to end what we have," she presses, "and I'd prefer if you just do it quickly and save us both anymore heartache!"

He can tell by her snappish tone that she's already hurting, and knows he needs to fix this misunderstanding between them; preferably before she starts cussing him out and throwing things at him.

"I'm not breaking up with you," he tells her, rolling his eyes as if the very notion that he ever would is ridiculous (which it is; he didn't wait this long for her only to give her up when she was finally his).

She immediately relaxes, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thank god," she says, then adds with a teasing smile, "I wasn't sure if I could go back to hating your guts."

"Please," he says, that trademark smirk tipping his lips, "you couldn't hate me if you wanted to."

She laughs at that, but he knows that she knows it to be true; no matter how many times in their past that he's done something to seriously piss her off, she's always forgiven him. (And now that forgiveness even comes with a few heated kisses.)

"Seriously though," he says, "we do need to discuss something."

She sits down on her bed, patting the spot next to her, and he shakes his head, turning down the invitation to join her. "We won't be doing any talking if I'm that close, and you know it," he points out, causing her to reply with a wicked little grin that (almost) makes him second-guess why it's so damn important to discuss this _now_.

"Stop that; I'm trying to be serious," he admonishes. When he's certain he has her undivided attention, and she's stopped trying to mentally undress him, he drops the bombshell. "Stefan's back."

"I know he is," she smirks. "Or did you forget that we were fighting about him the day you finally gave in and let me have my way with you?"

He rolls his eyes, because he's trying to be serious right now and she still has sex on the brain (oh how the roles reversed so quickly). "No," he clarifies, "he's _back_. The squirrel and bunny population won't be safe for much longer."

"But, that's good, isn't it? I mean, he's back. He's Stefan again!"

Damon nods. "Yeah, he is," he confirms. "He's still pretty fragile; worse than the last time he went through detox, but he's not a psychopath anymore." He sighs, because he knows she's not going to like what he has to say next. "Which means…I should probably keep my distance from you for a while."

She looks at him like he just slapped her. "I thought you said we weren't breaking up!"

"We're not," he replies. "We're just going to have to hit the pause button for a bit; at least until he's strong enough that telling him isn't going to make him feel like sunbathing without his ring."

"You really think he'd try to kill himself if he found out about us?" she asks worriedly.

"Maybe not," he shrugs, "but then again Stefan has a habit of going all emo when we least expect it; and as much as I would love to flaunt it in front of the whole town that I finally got the girl..."

"He's still your brother," Elena finishes for him. He doesn't say anything, but then he doesn't really need to; Elena has always understood him far better than anyone else ever has. "So how long before..."

"Probably a week or two."

"A WEEK?" she repeats, looking horrified at the idea.

He smirks at her. "You'll survive; you've waited a whole lot longer than that in the past."

"Yeah," she points out, "but it's a small town, Damon, and we're still going to run into each other; and it's already hard enough just keeping our relationship a secret, now you want me to keep my distance completely?"

"Would you prefer Stefan find out about us because I happen to have your scent _all_ over me?" he asks, arching his brow.

"No," she sighs, defeated. "You're right."

"I know," he replies. "So I think I should go now, before Stefan starts wondering where I am."

"You're leaving already?" she asks, pouting adorably. "I don't even get a goodbye kiss?"

He knows what she really wants, but that still isn't enough to stop him from giving in and sweeping her into his arms like a romantic hero in a trashy novel and what's supposed to be a goodbye kiss quickly escalates into something more; because goodbye has never been simple between them.

She pulls his shirt over his head, breathes heavily against his neck, traces every inch of newly bared skin with her mouth; and he lets her, because he might as well take full advantage of the time he has left with her.

His fingers tangle into her hair as she dips her head and takes him between her soft lips, as if savoring the taste and feel of him. He watches her eyes flutter shut, and a small tear falls past her lashes and trickles down her cheek, and he brushes it away with his free hand before bringing her back up to kiss her lips and lift her bridal style into his arms.

He lays her back on her bed, hovering over her and brushing his lips over her quivering stomach before reaching the liquid heaven between her legs. She moans softly at the first flick of his tongue, and Damon tries to make her ecstasy last as long as he possibly can before finally sinking into her body and giving in to his own need to be as close to her as two people can possibly get, committing every sound, every taste, and every touch to memory; because it may very well be the last time he gets to hold her like this.

He may have promised he wouldn't break up with her, but once Stefan's hero armor is all shiny and perfect again, he knows she'll likely make that decision herself.

So as she falls asleep curled around him, he gently untangles their limbs and gives her one last kiss before slipping quietly out her bedroom window.

* * *

><p>A few days later he kisses her out of anger; and a little bit of possessiveness and jealousy are part of it too. It's just after Stefan leaves his self-imposed jail cell for a more comfortable one upstairs in his room. Ironically enough, his wanting to see Elena again had nothing to do with it; it was Vampire Barbie who talked him into it.<p>

"If you're gonna keep sulking, you could at the very least move the pity party to your bedroom; I mean, even inmates have access to a shower," he overhears her telling Stefan in that bossy no-nonsense tone of hers that he usually finds irritating, but in the case of his brother's moodiness he's grateful for it. Especially since it seems to snap Stefan out of his depression long enough to actually crack a smile and laugh with her.

Once Stefan no longer smells like road kill baking on the highway, Damon calls Elena to tell her the "good news".

Biggest fuck-up ever.

She gets to the boarding house in record time, speeds up the stairs, and throws her arms around his brother's neck. Then they're talking about how worried she was, and how much she missed him; and _his_ name isn't even mentioned once. Well, okay, the "Damon's been worried about you too, even if he's too stubborn to admit it," speech was _one_ time his name came up, but it's not the topic he was waiting for.

He could write it off as her not wanting to upset the eternally brooding teenager, except that when it's time for her to leave, Stefan grasps her hand, and there's a "moment" between them. And, being that Damon has been listening quite intently through the door for the past hour, he recognizes the sudden silence and the gentle press of lips on lips; and then the old sparks of jealous rage flare up and he's seeing red.

He catches her on her way to her car, and presses her back against one of the more secluded trees a few feet from the house (and of course away from earshot of Stefan's room).

"What the hell, Damon?" she hisses at him after getting over her momentary shock.

He meets her furious glare with an even fiercer one.

"So is this how you're going to play it?" he spits venomously at her. "I thought you didn't want to be like HER."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" she sputters. "What's gotten into you?"

He doesn't answer her, and instead dips his head to capture her mouth and silence her lies. The kiss is bruising, punishing, and she tries to pull away from it, but he holds her firmly to him. Her soft moans are stifled by his lips as she slowly opens to his assault, and he plunges his tongue inside, swirling it around to taste her fully before deliberately recoiling back in disgust.

"I can taste him on your lips," he growls.

Her eyes widen in understanding, and she looks away guiltily.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

He laughs sardonically. "Sorry you kissed him, or sorry that I caught you?"

"Damon, it's not..."

"Not what?" he cuts her off. "And don't tell me that it's not what it fucking looked like, because I have ways of knowing if you're lying to me!"

One of her hands comes up automatically to clutch her necklace. "You wouldn't," she says, more as a way to reassure herself that he won't compel her.

"I will if I have to," he warns her; and at the seriousness in his tone, she is immediately compliant.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," she sighs. "He caught me by surprise, and..."

"Like how I caught _you_ by surprise, right?" he snaps at her, "such a convenient excuse to misbehave!"

"Are you going to let me explain, or just assume the worst and attack me before I can defend myself?"

He cocks his head to the side to indicate he's listening, and she sighs in exasperation.

"I didn't kiss him, Damon," she says. "He kissed me."

He rolls his eyes, because that right there is the oldest (and lamest) excuse, and he tells her so.

"Oh my god, are you twelve?" she says, getting annoyed now.

"One of us is," he replies, echoing the same words she said to him when she'd effectively locked him out of his own house until he agreed with her (stupid) plan to sacrifice herself. "Although I doubt even a twelve year old would think the _'he_ kissed _me_' excuse is valid."

"Ugh," she growls. "Why are you being such an ass?"

"I think I have every right to be an ass right now, considering you've been lying through your teeth!"

"I'm not lying!" she cries in frustration. "What was I supposed to do?"

"You could have NOT kissed him!"

"He's still my boyfriend!" she shouts at him; and as soon as she says it, she gasps and is instantly apologetic. "I didn't mean...that came out wrong..." she stammers. But it's too late, and he pulls away from her; both physically and mentally.

"No," he says bitterly. "You're right; he's your boyfriend, and I'm just the guy you've been fucking behind his back." The words are harsh, cruel, and exactly how he feels about this fucked up situation they've gotten themselves into.

"Tell me something; why would you even start something with me if you were just going to run back to him?"

"I'm not...Damon, I..." She stumbles over every syllable, and there are tears of frustration in her eyes.

"When you can actually finish that sentence," he tells her softly, "you know where to find me."

And then he swallows the lump in his throat and leaves her, still sobbing, and heads back inside to consume his weight in expensive liquor and try to forget that she's just broken his heart.


	3. Burn Me Forever

Disclaimer and Warning: I do not own Vampire Diaries, however consider this story mine. Any dialogues not canon from the show as well as any descriptive sentences are the end result of over twenty years of writing. I have poured my heart and soul into every beautiful paragraph, every perfect sentence, every hot and/or romantic scene, and every funny one-liner. To copy this work or any other and claim as one's own, in whole or in part is a criminal offence punishable by ostracism, harassment by my loyal readers, and possibly even dismissal by the MODs. **Repeat offenders will be reported IMMEDIATELY to Stop_Plagiarism on LiveJournal and your name will be placed on the watch list under all known aliases.** It's not worth it; don't be a thief !

**Part III: Burn me forever**

Two weeks; it's been two fucking weeks, and he hasn't seen Elena once since their heated argument outside the house. He half-expected her to go back to Stefan, but it would appear that even _she_ doesn't know what she wants, as she seems to be avoiding both of them. Not that he cares or anything; because he doesn't, and the large quantities of alcohol that he's consumed in those two weeks has nothing at all to do with her, and everything to do with the fact that he really likes the numb feeling that drinking the stuff gives him, and that his happy meals from the local sorority just happen to all have dark hair and brown eyes…well, that's just a coincidence, and one that certain people (Ric) would be smart not to point out in the first place.

This is the lie he tells himself the day he hears her approaching footsteps, and the insistent knocking at the door that follows.

He tosses back another bottle of his very expensive scotch, lounging on the sofa and trying his best to pretend he can't hear her outside.

"Damon, I know you're home!" she calls through the door.

He knows she's trying to call his bluff; because there's no way she could possibly know for sure. It's not like she has super hearing or anything, and all the curtains are (thankfully) drawn, so she couldn't even look in the window. Her muttered, "Fine, be that way," follows an exasperated sigh, and seems to indicate that she's giving up and leaving him to drink in peace. But then he picks up the sound of keys being removed from her pocket, and his eyes widen in horror, because oh shit, he forgot she still had her set from when this had been her "safe house".

He's at the door before she can stick the key into the lock, and flings it open with a look of pure annoyance.

She seems momentarily startled, but regains her composure quickly enough. "Can I come in?" she asks.

"Stefan's not here," he responds tersely. "He's probably out rescuing kittens from trees and helping little old ladies across the street. But I'll tell him you stopped by."

"Good." She sticks her foot in the door to stop him from closing it. "Because you and I need to talk."

"There's nothing left to say."

"Damon..."

"Elena," he mimics her.

"Come on, don't be like this," she pleads.

He cocks his head to the side, studying her though narrowed eyes. "How did you think this was going to go? Did you think you would just show up here, and we'd go back to the flirty comments and playful banter? Sorry, doesn't work that way. You made your choice, now live with it."

"I chose YOU!" she cries. "I thought you knew that!"

He smirks bitterly. "You have a funny way of showing it."

"Damon," she sighs, reaching out her hand to touch his arm. He flinches away from her, and he's so very tempted to tell her to fuck off, but his stupid heart still aches for her, and he can't find that switch to turn off those feelings.

"I broke up with Stefan," she tells him, and in spite of his anger he can't help the flutter of hope he feels at her words.

"Well, that's news to me," he says sarcastically, "because Stefan hasn't tried to stake me yet."

"He doesn't know."

"Doesn't know you're broken up, or doesn't know about your infidelity?"

"You don't have to say it like that," she admonishes.

"It is what it is, Elena. You said it yourself; you and Stefan were still together when you went ahead and sampled the forbidden fruit."

"Only because we never officially broke up before he left!" she reminds him.

"Hate to break it to you," he says, "but when a guy leaves town and you don't hear from him _at all_ for _months_..."

"I know," she sighs. "I guess I just feel guilty."

He scoffs at that, because really, _he's_ the only one who should feel guilty. Elena might have _technically _been single, by the definition of Stefan _leaving her_ to go tear up the countryside (literally), but that's only because he sacrificed everything so that his brother could live; and Damon repaid him by sleeping with his (ex) girlfriend while he was in rehab.

The worst part is that he can't even feel bad about all the things he's done with her, because fuck if it's not the best sex he's ever had, and he suspects that being hopelessly in love with her is part of the reason for that.

Still, he doesn't want to lose his brother, and he knows that it will hurt Stefan _more_ if they keep sneaking around like they have been. Also, Damon _really_ wants to be able to show Elena all the places he's travelled to, and the beautiful restaurants with views of the city, and of course he can't do any of that if their relationship has to be kept a secret. (There's a part of him that sometimes wonders if the reason she's been putting off telling everyone is that she still hasn't made a clear choice, or she's worried about what everyone might think…or she doesn't love him as much as he loves her).

"If you feel so guilty, then why are you here?" he asks her.

"Because I miss you," she whispers. "I miss _us_." Her voice is so soft, and tinged with raw emotion; it's impossible for him to ignore the desperate plea, and the answering need for him is as strong as his need for her. He's powerless to resist, and he knows it.

"If we do this," he warns, "then we're going to do it right this time; that means no more sneaking around, and no lying to Stefan about why you're here."

She lets out the breath she's obviously been holding, and then she falls into his arms.

This time he kisses her because there aren't words powerful enough to express how much he missed her, and how much he still wants her. He kisses her because these past few weeks have been hell, and because he's tired of constantly denying himself, and because he just can't stay away from her a moment longer without going completely insane. Most of all, he kisses her because he just doesn't want to fight with her anymore.

She responds with pure desperation, and he shuts the door by pressing her against it. He almost forgot how good it feels to have her legs wrapped around his waist and her fingers in his hair, or how warm and wet and sweet her mouth is; it's like he's home, and he wonders why he ever let her go in the first place. He trails his lips down her neck, letting out a low growl when she presses that soft apex against the almost painfully hard bulge in his too-tight jeans.

"Oh god, Damon, _please_," she gasps as he carefully nips at the thin skin of her neck and sends another involuntary shudder through her.

The sound of footsteps in the distance, approaching the house at no human pace, causes him to tear himself away from her tempting lips before things can get any more heated between them.

"Damon, what?" she starts to ask, but he quickly places a finger to her lips and nods toward the door meaningfully.

"_Stefan,"_ he mouths, not wanting to attempt even a whisper at this point. He seriously hopes that the bunny diet Stefan's on will be enough to dull his sense of smell, because Elena's arousal is as blatantly obvious as her kiss-swollen lips and disheveled hair.

"Moment of truth, Elena," he whispers, "now's your chance..."

* * *

><p>He decides to wait in her bedroom for her to return after what he can only assume to be the long-awaited heart to heart chat with his brother. This way there's no chance she'll blame what she says on any outside "influence", and he won't be tempted to say anything if Elena gets cold feet about the whole telling Stefan the truth thing.<p>

He doesn't quite know what he's expecting to happen, but as far as he's concerned, this is it; their defining moment. Whatever the outcome may be, the games will end for good, and he'll either be the happiest he's ever been, or he'll end up buying out every liquor store in Virginia on his way out of town tonight.

He picks up the sound of her footsteps on the porch, and the metal scrape of keys in a lock. Then the door swings open, and she calls out to Jeremy and Ric (neither of which are home), before sighing heavily and heading straight upstairs.

When she sees him, she immediately steps into the comfort of his arms, nuzzles into his neck, and breathes in his scent.

"I'm glad you're here," she whispers softly, her arms squeezing him tighter.

"Did you tell him?" Damon asks. He's instantly able to tell by her suddenly stiffened posture that she hasn't, and he lets go, stepping back from her and giving her a look of sheer disappointment. He should have known he was fooling himself when he believed she would actually go through with it.

"That'd be a no," he sighs.

"I tried," she says, "but he just started hunting again, and it's bad enough that I broke up with him, I just..."

"...didn't want to hurt him again," Damon finishes for her. "I know."

"I'm sorry," she says, lowering her head in shame. "I promise, I WILL tell him."

"Where have I heard that before?" he snaps bitterly.

"Damon…" she pleads with him in that weary yet desperate tone, "Don't do this…"

He cuts her off, because no amount of pleading, or pouting, or sad doe eyes are going to prove that she really means what she says. "Do you love me, Elena?" He says it rather abruptly, and it immediately catches her off guard; just as he intended.

"What?" she asks, somewhat stunned.

"It's a simple question," he says, "Do you love me, or not?"

She opens her mouth to answer him, but he can see the fear and the hesitation in her eyes. "I…it's complicated," she replies.

"No, it's really not," he sighs "Either you love me or you don't, so which is it?"

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, but makes no attempt to answer him other than the pleading expression that begs him for more time; the only problem is that he already knows she loves him, but she's still too afraid to admit it. He gets it; she doesn't want to hurt anyone, but he's given her more than enough time to sort out her feelings.

"I can't do this anymore," he sighs when she still hasn't given him an answer. "I can't keep being the only one to say it."

"What are you saying?" she asks him, her voice quivering.

"Exactly what it sounds like." He can see the terror in her eyes, the fear that he's really done this time; that he won't be coming back. "_I_ can't keep telling you that I love you and not have you say it back."

"Damon," she says softly, "come on, you have to know how I feel; all the times I've shown you...why do I have to say it?"

"Because it's not enough for me, Elena." He sighs, "I need to know that you're mine, completely, and while you've proven you want me physically, there's a part of you that's still holding back; I want all of you, and the fact that you can't say it, or tell even anyone about us..."

Tears glisten in her eyes and she tries to look away. He steps forward, cupping her face in his hands.

"Look at me," he rasps, gently brushing a few stray tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. He stares deeply into her eyes. "If you felt even a fraction of what I feel for you, you would have told everyone a long time ago, and we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

She does little more than gasp softly, as he lowers his hands from her face, but as he turns to leave, she grasps hold of his left hand and squeezes it.

"Damon, please don't go," she says.

He turns back to her. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

Elena slowly brings his hand up to her mouth, and places a gentle kiss on the inside of his palm, never taking her eyes from his. "Because I don't want you to."

He pulls his hand free. "That's not an answer."

"Because I care about you."

"Not good enough," he replies, shaking his head sadly. He turns his back to her and moves toward the window. He can hear the frantic pounding of her heart, can practically smell the salt of her tears as she starts to realize that he means it this time. And though it's killing him to leave her, he knows it would kill him more if he stayed, and she was never able to fully return his feelings.

"Because I love you!" she cries desperately as he has one foot on the window ledge.

"You're only saying that because you don't want me to go," he says, glancing back over his shoulder with a bitter smile.

Elena shakes her head and steps toward him confidently. "I'm not," she replies, "I mean every word."

There's a part of him that wants to believe her, but he just can't think clearly whenever she looks at him like she is now; like she can see his soul, and everything that he is, and everything that she believes he's capable of becoming for her. It scares the hell out of him sometimes, but especially now, when he's so close to running away from her and never looking back; because he meant what he said, he can't keep waiting for her to figure out what she wants, and he can't be around her anymore if she can't give him what _he_ wants.

She reaches out to place a hand on his cheek, trapping him with her ever-expressive brown eyes; her touch is firm even when he tries to flinch away from it, as she says, "I love you, Damon Salvatore, and I'm _not_ going to let you walk away from us."

This time, _she _kisses _him_. Her lips are soft as petals as they first graze his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and when he doesn't pull away, she gently tugs his bottom lip between hers. Through all of this he keeps his hands at his sides, allowing her to run the show as he turns to face her fully and she presses her hands on his shoulders. He lowers himself to sit on the plush seating at her window, and as soon as he does she straddles his thighs, leaning over him. Hands framing his face, she pulls back to gaze into his eyes, whispering her love before she brings her lips down on his again.

He traces the smooth column of her neck with his fingertips, drawing away from her lips to kiss a burning path down to her throat. She moans softly, tilting her head to allow him more access to her, tempting him more than he would ever care to admit. He can taste the salt of her skin, feel the pulse beneath his tongue, and as his lips travel downward to the edge of her tank top, she helps him slip it off.

He feasts on the soft curves of her breasts and flicks one nipple with his thumb through her bra before reaching behind her back to unclasp it; he draws the straps down her shoulders, nuzzling her neck as she shivers in reaction and whispers his name like a prayer. This is how it should have been their first time; not desperate and hungry, just a languorous exploration, loving every inch of newly uncovered skin. She lifts up his shirt; he pulls back long enough to remove the barrier between them, pressing his chest to hers so that he can feel her heart beating as if it were his own.

She rocks against him, building that ache inside them both, with only their jeans keeping them apart; it drives him half mad with need for her, and he knows that if she keeps moving over him like that, he's going to end up fucking her against the wall. While that certainly appeals to him, he would much rather make love to her tonight, and so he presses his hand to the curve of her back and lifts them both to their feet before sucking her nipple into his mouth. She arches into him, begging for more, and he kisses down her sternum, over the soft curve of her hips, and carefully undoes the button of her jeans. Her eyes are darkened with lust, and she licks her lips in anticipation as he slides her pants down just enough so that he's pressing his lips to the damp triangle of lace.

She grasps fistfuls of his hair, trying to guide his mouth where she needs it. Her jeans are halfway down her thighs, restricting her ability to spread her legs any further as he deliberately teases the ever loving shit out of her; call it retribution for the hell she put him through these past few weeks.

"Damon, please," she whimpers, and he smirks against her inner thigh before giving her a playful love bite.

"Oh!" she gasps sharply, the sweet scent of her increasing arousal hitting him full force; her femoral artery pulses just beneath his lips, tempting him. It's been far too long since he's tasted her and he can already feel his control slipping, because if there was ever a perfect moment to claim her, mark her as his in a way that no one can deny, this would be it.

He traces the vein with his tongue, watching her face for any sign that she doesn't want this, and when she returns his gaze with one of anticipation he slides his hands under her bottom and brings her closer to his mouth. As soon as his fangs elongate and penetrate her skin, she begins to shudder and he focuses on giving her as much pleasure as he possibly can; after over a century of practice, he's honed his skills to the point that he's able to make her come three times in ten second intervals. He moans deeply at the taste of her; each orgasm he gives her just makes her blood even sweeter, like the most decadent chocolate soufflé, and he can't seem to get enough of her. Her legs have given out, and he has to make the decision whether he wants to keep holding her up, or move her to the bed; he chooses the bed, only because he plans for this to be a long night and his hands could be doing much more enticing things to her than merely keeping her from toppling over.

As he lifts her up so that her hips rest at the very edge of her mattress, he feels her grip on his hair start to weaken and realizes he's taking too much of her blood than is wise; yet when he pulls back from her, she lets out a little whine of disappointment; that is, until he bites into his wrist and presses the wound against her lips.

Unlike the other times when he'd forced it on her, she closes her eyes and savors the taste, the color slowly returning to her cheeks. He clenches his jaw tightly and tries not to focus on how fucking amazing it feels; so much like oral sex that he could most definitely come from this if he wasn't so determined not to. When he can't take anymore, and he's satisfied that she's not going to faint, he pulls his wrist free and dips his head back down to feast on the even sweeter nectar seeping through the royal blue lace underwear she's still wearing. They're completely soaked with her juices, just as he knew they would be, and she's so sensitive that even the soft brush of his fingertips along the crease of her hip bones has her shivering and on the brink of her release.

He slips his fingers beneath the fabric, dipping them teasingly inside her before finally tearing the last of her clothing off her and running his tongue over her sensitized flesh. Elena makes a strangled little sound, arching her back and digging her heels into his shoulders as his lips and tongue find her clit and attack it with wild abandon until she's writhing on the bed and tears streak down her cheeks. He knows she's at her breaking point when he can hear nothing but the pounding of her heart and her high-pitched cries ringing in his ears, and with careful precision he slides the tip of his tongue into the tiny crease beneath her pulsing jewel; his touch is feather light, but it's more than enough to send her hurtling over the edge into an orgasm so powerful that it's at least several minutes before she's able to recover from it.

The sweet honey floods into his mouth, coats his tongue and drips down his chin as she convulses violently, her inner muscles clamping down hard on his fingers as he presses against the spongy tissue and brings her to one last climax before finally shedding his jeans and hovering over her, his thick erection positioned right at her entrance. She bucks her hips up, trying to take him inside, but he holds her still, refusing to give her what she wants just yet.

"I love you," he rasps, stroking her tangled hair back from her face and placing a soft kiss to her lips.

When he hears those same words echoed back in a soft little whimper just beneath his ear, he sheaths his full length inside her in one powerful stroke that has her crying out in rapture all over again. Her sex clenches around him in a vice grip, testing the limits of his control as he thrusts inside her with determined movements, taking her higher, watching as she begins to fall apart in his arms. Heat spreads through his veins, and he buries his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent; he falls into the flames with her, lets the fire consume him.

As the sweat begins to cool on his skin, he carefully rolls off of her, gathering her into his arms and pulling up her blankets to cover them both. His fingertips take on a mind of their own, gently threading through her hair and stroking skin wherever he can reach it, and she snuggles into him, whispering how good it feels and how much she missed him; how much she loves him.

"Marry me." The words leave his mouth before he can stop them from slipping out, and when she turns her head to stare at him in shock, he mentally kicks himself for saying it out loud.

"Seriously?" she replies in a tone that tells him she thinks he's joking; and she doesn't find it amusing.

Part of him wants to go along with it; let her think he was teasing her, and then spend the rest of the night making up for being a dick about something so serious, but his ego (and his heart) won't allow it, and he turns to face her fully.

"Yes, seriously," he says. "I'm not asking you to turn, at least not yet, but I _am_ asking for you to make a commitment to me; a _real _commitment."

She bites her lip nervously, and for a moment he thinks she's going to turn him down, but then she takes a deep breath and nods her head.

"I'm gonna need a better answer than that," he tells her.

"I…" she sighs, weighing her words carefully. "Give me time," she finally says.

It's not what he wants to hear, and they both know it, but considering she's only eighteen, he decides to let it go for now and draws her back into a comforting embrace.

"I may be immortal, Elena," he rasps against her neck, "but that doesn't mean I'm going to wait around forever."

"I don't expect you to," she whispers back.

He strokes her hair, trying not to let the fact that she's technically turning him down affect him too much. He knows it's irrational to feel like this, because she's still young and he could just as easily make her his wife a few years from now as he could today; but having waited so long for her, he's a little anxious to make it official and tie himself to her in every way possible. So that he can never lose her again.

She shifts in his arms, her limbs growing heavy as sleep begins to overtake her.

"Damon?" she whispers sleepily.

"Hmm?" he answers her, already half asleep himself.

"Ask me again in a few years."

* * *

><p>Of the many, many kisses that he gives her over the next three years, his favorite one comes the year she turns twenty one and becomes his wife. They'd been engaged already for quite some time, as he'd proposed to her two years earlier when she'd finally told him she was ready; the only reason he waited this long was because while he could easily compel every single person in the room, he would much rather she be <em>legally<em> allowed to drink champagne at their wedding reception. So for two years, he got to proudly call her his fiancé, and every time he looked down at her hand and saw his mother's ring, he couldn't help feeling just a _little_ smug about it. Rightfully, it had been his, as such things were always passed to the eldest son to give to his future bride; but his father, being a sanctimonious prick, had kept it from him anyway and given it to Stefan after Damon had continuously disappointed him. According to Guissepe Salvatore, Damon wasn't fit to be his heir, regardless of birthright; and secretly Damon had often wondered if the reason he'd been sent off to fight in The War was because his father had hoped he'd be killed in battle. It wasn't that far of a stretch when you considered that he had been the one to fire the gun that _did_ kill him.

It was Stefan who had given it back to him so he could give it to Elena. For almost a year after they went public with their relationship, Damon had wondered if Stefan was truly as accepting of everything as he'd claimed to be. It didn't matter that he had started dating Caroline, or that he often expressed how happy he was for the both of them. So when Damon had told Stefan that he intended to propose to Elena, he had expected some sort of negative reaction to the news. He'd assumed that Stefan had run upstairs to his room to sulk, but a few minutes later his brother had returned with a small box in his hands. It was something Damon hadn't seen since the day their mother had died, and that he'd thought had been lost. He should have known that Stefan would have kept it; but he could never have imagined it would be returned to him so he could propose to Elena. In that moment, Damon realized his brother had truly forgiven him, and that he had Stefan's blessing to marry her.

There were tears in her eyes when she said _yes_, and it was the best moment of his life.

Damon can still vividly remember the time when he stood at the foot of this very same staircase, and took the hand of the girl who would change his life completely. He waits for her now, feeling that same sense of anticipation come over him as her slim figure appears draped in a floor length satin gown, her hair curled and swept away from her face and pinned back with a sheer white veil. She carries a small bouquet of blue roses and white hydrangeas, which she gives to Caroline before taking his hand. He can't resist lifting it to his lips for a quick kiss, which causes every woman in the room to swoon; and then the minister starts talking about love and how precious it is, but he can't hear a word of it because he's too busy gazing at his bride (soon-to-be wife) and thinking back on everything that has led them here.

As Elena begins to say her vows, he's transported back to that first day he realized he was truly in love with her. He thinks of their time in Georgia, when their friendship blossomed; he thinks of the comfort he found in her arms, even when he tried to convince himself he didn't need it; he thinks of that deathbed kiss, and everything it meant for the both of them; and most of all he thinks of the night she finally told him she was ready to be his forever.

He also thinks of the times when she made him so angry he could literally _kill_; the times she slapped him because he was being an ass; the times when one or the other was tempted to walk away for good, and he realizes that all of it was worth it. Because even through the pain and the heartache that comes with loving someone just as stubborn and passionate as he is, there's just no other way that this could have ended for him; it's that undeniable truth that has kept him coming back to her. She makes him feel human, the way nothing else ever has. It's the one thing he wishes he could say in his vows to her, that he knows he can't (at least not right now, in front of the whole town), so instead he tells her she's a part of his soul, and conveys his true meaning through his eyes.

"I love you, Elena," he says softly, prompting the collective sighs from their audience. "And I promise to love you for all of eternity."

Women whisper to each other "how romantic" or "she's so lucky to have a husband who loves her that much", a few of the men groan as if to say "way to raise the bar to impossibly high standards", Carol Lockwood actually sheds a few tears, (which Damon can't help but find amusing considering how anti-vampire she'd once been) and Stefan can't help sharing a secret smile with Caroline, the both of them having (wisely) decided not to announce their recent engagement until _after _Damon brings Elena back from their honeymoon in a few weeks. To sum it all up, he's pretty much said The Most Romantic Wedding Vows Ever, that not even one of those girlie romance novels could hope to emulate, and Elena's $20 waterproof mascara turns out to be well worth the expense. She's smiling even through the tears streaking down her face, and she takes several deep breaths in an attempt to regain her composure as he slips the wedding band onto her finger.

"I love you too," she says, "forever and always."

The ring she places on his finger is slightly warm from her touch; undeniable proof that she has branded him forever as hers.

Before the minister can utter the words "you may kiss the bride", he sweeps his wife into his arms for the most thorough, most passionate, and most romantic kiss he can get away with.

* * *

><p>Damon turns Elena Gilbert Salvatore when she's twenty four; three years to the day he married her. To the casual observer, he's completely calm and collected as he waits for her to wake up; the truth is he's going out of his mind. He has no idea how she's going to react once she gets her first taste of human blood, and if the past has taught him anything it's that things rarely go the way he wants them too; he's under no illusions that having Elena as his wife is just pure luck, and that one does not get that lucky twice in one century. To be honest, there are still days when he looks at her, sleeping peacefully (and naked) in their bed, and wonders if he actually died that night she kissed him, and that none of this is real. But then he rolls his eyes because it's ridiculous to think there's such thing as Vampire Heaven (or that he'd even get in if it did exist).<p>

Also, holding her lifeless body in his arms feels more like his own personal Hell; it doesn't help that he's been holding her like this for the past several hours, and that he's starting to worry that she doesn't have enough of his blood in her system—which is also ridiculous, because they've exchanged blood every night since their honeymoon, just in case some new threat decides to show up and try to kill her.

Just as he's about to freak out and start shaking her awake, she gasps sharply; her eyes fly open to meet his and a smirk spreads across her lips.

"I thought the prince is supposed to wake Sleeping Beauty with a kiss," she says, arching her brow, "not wait for her to wake up on her own."

He doesn't reply; not with words anyway.

Instead he presses his lips to hers; kissing her for all the times he wanted to, all the times he has, and all the times he plans to kiss her for the rest of their lives. And really, that's the best Happily Ever After they could ask for.

**The End**


End file.
